


Harry Potter and the Final Year

by OlderShouldKnowBetter



Series: Pride & Scorpius-verse [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, F/M, Goblins, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:09:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 85,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6711982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlderShouldKnowBetter/pseuds/OlderShouldKnowBetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is going back to Hogwarts.</p>
<p>There's no Malfoy to make his life miserable.  There's no Snape, no Voldemort.</p>
<p>All he has to do is relax, learn magic and maybe spend some quality time with his new girlfriend. </p>
<p>But before he goes back there's just a few things he has to take care of. </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Draco Malfoy and the Trial of his life

#  Prologue

The room was deliberately intimidating. He sat there next to his mother, looking around at all the people lining the benches around him. Proceedings hadn’t started yet, in fact they were a little late, so most of the people were engaged in quiet conversations with their neighbours. A low susurrus filled the chamber and it felt like the quiet before the oncoming storm. He glanced up at his mother. She was sitting up stiffly, though she was always a bit stiff, looking serene and regal, but again she always looked that way. A stranger would be convinced she was calm and collected, but he could tell otherwise. She was worried. Everything had been brought forward and it was disturbing not to know why. The trial shouldn’t have been for almost another month. His mother accepted it with the stoic grace she accepted most things but he could tell it was the hurried nature of the date change that concerned her the most. Were they going to be summarily dealt with and then swept under the carpet?

He was about to complain again about the tardiness of their defence council when the man himself rushed through the doorway. He was an unprepossessing man to look at, short tending to fat and with only a strip of hair around the sides and back of his head. Just from looking at him you wouldn't think he was one of the pre-eminent wizarding lawyers in London. He approached them and … was he smiling?

“Hello again, just a few, last minute things to sort out. Everything should be kicking off soon.”

Before he could say anymore, explain why he was so late, for instance, a voice boomed out, “Silence in the court. All rise for Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic.”

The crowd stood as Kingsley entered the room and made his way to his place at the front of the court. His voice boomed throughout the courtroom, “I call into order these proceedings, the trial of Draco Malfoy. Would the accused please ascend the podium and take his seat.”

Draco stood up and walked up to the chair and gingerly sat down. He was relieved when the chains only rattled in place but didn’t move up to bind him to the chair.

Kingsley continued, “I understand that Narcissa Malfoy is present?” She stood up, “I understand that you wish to be tried with your son?”

“I do,” she replied.

“You are aware that your own charges are different in part and somewhat less than those brought against your son? That by being tried in conjunction with your son you may face harsher penalties than you otherwise may have?”

“I understand,” she replied, “I stand by my son. I only ask the court, that if possible, I be given any greater penalties to spare my son.”

“If you wish to be tried together, then please take your seat.” Kingsley directed her to a second chair which magically appeared next to Draco.

Draco had begged his mother not to do this, to leave him to face his well-deserved fate alone. But she insisted and as she sat next to him and took his hand, Draco wouldn’t have admitted to anyone (even under oath in front of the court) that it meant more to him than anything.

“What are the charges brought against the accused?” Kingsley said.

A wizard Draco didn’t recognise stood up and said, “That Draco Malfoy became a Death Eater serving under the wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort.”

“That Draco Malfoy, conspiring with other Death Eaters, did bring about the untimely Death of Albus Dumbledore the then headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“That Draco Malfoy did aid and abet Lord Voldemort in sundry ways during his year of terror and second rise to power that preceded the Battle of Hogwarts that ended the Second Wizarding War.”

Dread had seized Draco with the words of the accusations echoing around the chamber. As the litany of his crimes ceased he felt a shiver of ice run up his spine. When it was all put like that, ‘what had he done,’ he thought, ‘and how on earth would anyone not vote to throw him into Azkaban for years?”

“Is there anyone who stands to represent the accused?” said Kingsley.

“Yes your honour. Andrius Snodgrass, I will be representing the accused Draco Malfoy and his mother Narcissa Malfoy.” He moved, as he was talking, up to the podium where the two were seated and took a position standing next to Draco.

“Draco Malfoy, How do you plead?”

Draco’s mouth had gone dry, but he managed to lift his head and say, “Guilty.”

A murmur went around the Wizengamot, most of the other Death Eaters had shied away from their guilt, blaming others, blaming Voldemort, trying to evade any responsibility for their actions.

Kingsley banged his gavel, “Silence, silence in the court. Counsel do you have anything you wish to add?”

“Yes your honour I do. I believe there are ameliorating and mitigating circumstances behind the crimes of which my client is accused. Once brought to light, it may lessen the severity of Draco’s actions in these matters.”

‘Here it comes,’ thought Draco, this was the plan. All he had to do now was talk for his life, not that they were going to kill him, he just had to explain and plead his case. Andrius had gone over everything with him and he had rehearsed what he was about to say.

“To that extent the defence would like to call a witness,” Andrius said.

Draco gave a start, this wasn’t the plan. He had so much on his mind, but all he could think was, ‘Who would talk on his behalf?’ He looked across at his mother, she had a puzzled look on her face as well.

“I hope this is not just some sort of character witness Mr Snodgrass, I don’t think that will help your client’s case overmuch.”

“No your Honour. Though I do hope he will shed some positive light upon Draco’s character, this witness is far more germane to this case as he has firsthand knowledge of at least some of the events in question.”

Draco was even more puzzled, ‘who would be a credible witness, the Carrows, Greyback?’ he thought, ‘no one else would, surely, and even they wouldn’t do much good.’

“I will allow it, call your witness Mr Snodgrass.”

Draco looked up at his Lawyer as Andrius said, “The defence calls … Mr Harry Potter.”

The call was taken up by the wizard at the door, the same one who asked the court to be upstanding, as the room erupted into conversation. Draco’s attention snapped back to his mother, ignoring the hubbub in the room, because she had gripped his hand so tightly. She’d shut her eyes and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking until she turned her face towards him. Draco nearly fell off his chair, her face was full of hope.

Shacklebolt had waited for the hubbub to quieten down a little before banging his gavel and calling for order. Harry had approached and now stood forward of Draco.

“What is your full name?” asked the officer of the court.

“Harry James Potter”

“The witness is yours Counsel.” said Kingsley.

“Thank you your Honour,” Andrius said, turning then to Harry. “How long have you known the defendant?”

“Seven years,” replied Harry, “we started school together as first years seven years ago.”

“So you are well acquainted with Draco, how would you describe your relationship?”

“Bad,” a grin appeared on Harry’s face and Draco couldn’t help but smirk as well, ‘that was an understatement,’ Draco thought.

“He hated me and I certainly didn’t like him much back.”

“Why do you think this was?”

“A part of it was jealousy a part of it was petulance. He was a rich, handsome, young pureblood of a noble and ancient family; he should have ruled Hogwarts except for me. I got all this fame and attention which he thought he deserved and all I did was to survive as a child. Every adult here also survived their own childhood, so it wasn’t really a big thing.” A slight chuckle went around the room.

“Well after that glowing report, I’m certainly glad you are not here solely to give Draco a character reference,” said Andrius to increased laughter, “Please continue, Mr Potter.”

“Draco did want to be friends at first, but I’d already made friends with Ron Weasley. Draco's father and Ron’s had a long standing feud from their days at school and had passed this down to the two boys. So after Draco insulted my new friend, that was it, we never became anything close to friends.”

“But I think that’s why, the whole bit about his dad and how he was brought up, it's why we never got on. His mind had been poisoned from an early age by his father to believe that blood purity was everything. He couldn’t accept that a halfblood, like me, got more attention than him. To make things worse, even though he is quite a talented wizard, he was always beaten at school by Hermione Granger, a muggleborn. By his ingrained standards she should have been worthless and that always got to him too.”

“It seems there is quite a bit of animosity between you both, so I must ask - why are you appearing as a witness in his defence?”

“To try to stop an injustice,” Harry replied, “there are things the wizarding world don’t know about what went on in some of the crimes Draco is accused of, some things even Draco doesn’t know.”

“You speak, of course, specifically of the events of June 1997, the night of Albus Dumbledore’s death.”

“Yes.”

“You were on the Astronomy tower.”

“Yes.”

“Why were you both there?”

“We had both just returned from a mission to locate one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.”

A gasp went up from around the room. Most of the events of that night were not known to the wizarding world at large. He hadn't told all of the details to McGonagall and she in turn hadn’t revealed all she knew. What Harry was saying was unknown to most of the people here and Draco watched as most of the crowd paid attention, sitting up straighter or leaning forward in their seats as Harry related his return to Hogsmeade: Seeing the Dark Mark above the school; Both of them flying back to school on borrowed brooms and landing together on the Astronomy tower.

“Why weren't you seen by Draco or the others when they got to the tower?” asked Andrius.

“I had been made invisible and when Draco burst onto the roof, Dumbledore put the body bind on me so that I wouldn’t reveal myself and be at risk to him. Looking after me like that left him exposed to Draco and he was easily disarmed.”

“So,” Andrius questioned, “Draco had Albus Dumbledore at his mercy from almost the exact moment he arrived on the tower roof, yet Draco didn’t immediately kill him?”

“No he didn’t, that’s right. And he could have easily killed him, even Dumbledore said so, but he didn’t; he couldn’t kill a defenceless old man. Dumbledore told him that he knew all along that Draco had been ordered to kill him, but he hadn't said or done anything about it before because he knew what Voldemort would do.”

“And what was that?”

“Kill or hurt his family first then do the same to Draco. Draco confirmed this when Dumbledore said he knew about the plot to kill him. Dumbledore tried to convince Draco, he said that now that the plot was revealed, he would keep him and his family safe. Draco was just about to stop and to agree to come away from Voldemort when the other Death Eaters arrived.”

“Who was it that came to the rooftop?”

“The Carrow twins, Fenrir Greyback and some big blonde guy, I don’t remember his name and he was killed a little while later."

“Snape too?”

“No, he came later.”

“Letting Greyback into a school full of children, that was awfully irresponsible of Draco.”

“No, it wasn’t him, he didn’t. He didn’t know that Greyback would also come and was disgusted that he was there. He said so to Dumbledore and I could see it in his face.”

“So then…“ Andrius prompted.

”Well, the Death Eaters insulted Dumbledore for a bit then they started to egg Draco on, urging him to kill Dumbledore. But still, he wouldn’t do it … and then Snape arrived.”

“He took over, everyone could see it. They all backed off under the strength of his personality. He strode toward Dumbledore, moving in front of Draco. Even then he didn’t kill him; Dumbledore had to beg Snape to do it. ‘Please Severus,’ he said.”

“What I learnt later was that they had made an arrangement before, about Draco and the whole plot to kill Dumbledore. Dumbledore wanted Snape to kill him and not Draco as it would ruin the boy’s soul. Snape didn’t like that, ‘what about my soul?’ he said. Dumbledore said to Snape something like, ‘It’s a big difference between a young innocent boy committing what he thinks is murder and an old friend helping someone to go before they are consumed by a horrible and nasty death.’”

“You made reference to this before - how easy it would have been for Draco to kill Dumbledore - and now again you mention it .Please would you clarify for the court what you mean.” Andrius instructed.

“Oh yes,” said Harry, snapping himself out of his memories, “Dumbledore was dying, he had only months of life left to live.” Another low noise came from the audience, “No actually, well yes he did, but something else had happened to him that night – he only had hours left, unless Snape healed him.” A large gasp went up from the crowd.

“At the beginning of that year, Dumbledore had found and destroyed one of Voldemort’s horcruxes.” Harry said and Kingsley had to use his gavel and a few ‘silence in the courts before order and silence was restored.

“When he did, he was cursed and would have died. Lots of people saw his blackened hand… yes? That was the effect of the curse and if it hadn’t been for Professor Snape’s spells and healing, Dumbledore would have died months before he did. As it was, Professor Snape could only do so much, so Dumbledore’s life was extended to about a year. That year was nearly up when this happened.”

“Then on that night, at the location of the other horcrux, Dumbledore had to drink a cursed potion. He was so weak afterwards I had to help him walk and stuff; I even had to apparate us both back to Hogsmeade.”

“Thankyou Mr Potter. So on to the events of that night.” Said Andrius turning to address the court, "Draco did orchestrate the plan to allow Death Eaters access to Hogwarts, but when it came down to it he showed an increased unwillingness to actually commit murder, moreover the whole idea of killing Dumbledore was conceived by Voldemort and then forced on Draco with threats against his family and himself.”

Kingsley spoke up, “I’d like to hear from Draco. It is known to the court that Draco had a strong dislike for Dumbledore.”

Draco had to pull himself together at this sudden attention. He’d been absorbed by what Harry had been saying and had almost forgotten about all the things he’d rehearsed to say.

Draco got to his feet, “It’s true I didn’t like him much. I thought he was the embodiment of all the things my father had taught me to despise. ‘Muggle loving old fool’ I called him, more than once. But when I saw him on the roof and before then too, but especially on the roof when he was helpless before me … I just couldn’t do it. Take someone’s life, make them stop living.”

“A couple of times I tried talking myself into it, forcing to think of him as an object I didn’t like; I tried to think of all the threats Voldemort had levelled at my family and myself if I didn’t do it; but I still couldn’t do it.

Draco had had his eyes closed, remembering the events of that night, but he opened them again when he turned to his mother with the faintest of smiles upon his lips, “I guess my Mother raised me better.”

She smiled back up at him.

“Thank you Mr Malfoy. Do you have anything further to add, counsel?” Kingsley asked.

“Yes I do your Honour. Other charges have been laid at the feet of my clients: to wit, that Mr Malfoy and his mother aided and abetted the wizard known as Lord Voldemort and joined his service as Death Eaters. We are not denying that either of them became Death Eaters, but Mr Potter here was a direct witness of both Mr Malfoy and his mother on several occasions that might throw light upon their behaviour while in Voldemort’s service.”

“Proceed then.”

“Mr Potter,” said Andrius turning to address him, “can you describe to the court the events that occurred whereby you came to observe how Draco acted as a Death Eater?”

Harry described how, when they were on the run, they were captured by the group of snatchers. How Hermione had disfigured his face; how they were taken to Malfoy Manor; Hermione’s torture at the Hands of Bellatrix Lestrange; and their imprisonment. Suitable ohhs and ahhs came from the audience. Draco could see Rita Skeeta sitting in the gallery with a malicious grin upon her face, her green quill writing a mile-a-minute on some parchment. He also noticed the Spinnett girl from school sitting near her. He remembered her because of her position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She was also writing furiously, did she want to write a book or was it that she wanted to become a reporter too, he mused. Draco heard his name mentioned and focused back on Harry.

“So you were taken by this group of snatchers back to Malfoy Manor and brought in front of a group of Death Eaters, amongst which were Draco Malfoy and Narcissia Malfoy. Is that correct?”

“I was … and they were there.”

“Please describe to us his behaviour.”

“He was a most unwilling participant; you could see it clearly in what he said and how he acted. Greyback was there, he was one of the snatchers and you could tell Draco hated even being in the same room as him. He was, Draco that is, was asked to identify me – you see there were hints that I was me, Harry Potter that is, even though my face was disguised. The other Death Eaters were ecstatic that it could have been me. They all would be greatly rewarded by Voldemort for getting me. Draco was pressured to confirm it, to say it was me but he refused to do so.”

“You said yourself earlier,” said Andrius, “that your face had been disfigured by Miss Granger’s stinging jinx. Could it have been the case that he didn’t recognise you?”

“No, it’s not possible. It’s not possible that he didn’t recognise me even with my face all swollen up. Even the other Death Eaters strongly suspected that I was me – I was caught with Ron and Hermione, I was about the right height and shape, same hair colour and cut, same glasses. He’d known me for years – he knew it was me. Yet still, Draco refused to definitely say it was me, even though he was being urged to do so.”

“So? So what if he didn’t identify you, they still had you captured, at their mercy.”

“But it gave me time and the Death Eater’s uncertainty gave me a chance to escape. But anyway it shows how he was – he didn’t want to do it even though everyone was trying to force him and if he had done it he would have been greatly rewarded.”

“Thank you Mr Potter. So there you have it, your Honour, Draco was an unwilling participant. He had joined the Death Eaters originally on his own recognisance, but I ask the court what was he to think or do when his Father had set such an example for him. He soon found, I dare say, that he had gotten in over his head. He showed this in his refusal to kill Dumbledore and then again in his refusal to identify Harry Potter at a time where doing so would have been greatly to his and his families’ advantage.”

“Do you have anything else to relate; are there any other incidents of note you directly observed, regarding my clients?”

“There is one,” replied Harry, “that happened with Mrs Malfoy during the Battle of Hogwarts.” 

The room was rapt with attention, Draco saw, as Harry began to talk about his journey into the forest to meet with Voldemort. Harry said it so matter of factly, when he said he knew he was going to die, that he walked into the forest on purpose to die at the hands of Voldemort. How he had seen, from Snape’s memories, that he had a sort of horcrux lodged inside his mind and that he had to be killed by Voldemort for it to be destroyed. How he did it to keep all his friends and family and the people of Hogwarts safe from Voldemort. From anyone else it could have been bragging, but Draco (and he supposed the audience too) could see he wasn’t. There was hardly a sound from the crowd, they were all mesmerised.

It stirred feelings in Draco that he didn’t recognise and he wouldn’t properly understand till years later. So as Draco listened he became more and more … resentful? Because he couldn’t comprehend what he was feeling he resorted to the old habits of blaming it on Potter. Here he was on what was probably the biggest day in his life and again Potter was making it all about himself. His mind skipped over the fact that Harry was doing it all for him, that by doing so he was, no doubt, saving Draco from years of imprisonment or worse.

“So I lay there, for all intents and purposes, dead. The second time I’ve survived the killing curse – though I wouldn’t recommend either option for anyone who wishes to copy it”. Harry grinned at the audience and a laugh went around the room that lifted the intense silence. “Voldemort had only killed his Horcrux, which was Dumbledore’s plan all along. Again, a heads-up that I was going to survive might have been nice.”

Harry turned serious again, “But Voldemort needed to confirm I was dead. I was the only thing preventing him from winning and controlling all of wizarding Brittan and maybe more. But in his Hubris and arrogance, he didn’t do it himself. He selected a follower, as if the mundane act of checking my corpse for signs of life was beneath him.”

“Thankfully, he selected Narcissa Malfoy to do the task.” He pointed at Draco’s mum and every eye in the room turned to her. Draco saw her almost imperceptibly straighten in her char and tilt her chin upwards, though she kept her attention focused straight ahead. “She approached me, I don’t know what was going through her mind; she lent down to check on my body and whispered ‘Is Draco Alive?’”

Draco’s mouth almost fell open, his mother still looked as if she’d been carved from marble, he hadn’t known his. Their family wasn’t the best when it came to communication. He kept staring at her as Harry went on, lost in admiration and respect for her.

“I could whisper back, ‘yes’ because I’d seen him only a few hours before when he helped us to destroy another of Voldemort’s horcruxes.” The crowd gasped again and turned their gaze upon Draco. Draco could only lower his own gaze and he began to feel his cheeks burn with shame. He didn’t remember the events quite like that. Harry was putting what happened in the best possible light, once again solely for Draco’s benefit.

“When she heard me she stood up and told Voldemort I was dead.” 

“Even though she knew how great his powers were; his ability at Legilimens?” interrogated Andrius.

“Yes. I know she knew, from experience, that Voldemort could always tell when someone was directly lying to him. And yet she still did it anyway – I don’t know exactly why, maybe she ws playing the angles (she was a cunning Slytherin after all), but I think at that moment she didn’t care. Not about Voldemort, not whether he won or lost, not about us; only about finding her son and keeping him safe. It was exactly as the prophesy foretold, Voldemort would be defeated by a power he knew not – love. He couldn’t understand it, I remember him and Dumbledore arguing about it as they duelled in the Ministry. He thought magic was more powerful, because on the surface it is, but underneath … why do we do what we do, why do we use the spells we use? One of the main motivations for most people is love. Voldemort didn’t understand this because he didn’t, he couldn’t love.”

“Draco, on the rooftop could have killed Dumbledore in many ways; burnt him, drowned him, cut him up, just killed him outright with the killing curse. But he didn’t employ any of these powerful spells because of his love of life. He knew how precious and wonderful life is and couldn’t take it away from someone else.”

Harry finished talking to silence in the court as everyone took in what he’d said. It was broken only when Andrius said, “Thank you, Mr Potter. I have no further questions.”

“Actually, if it pleases the court, I have something I wish to add.” Harry spoke up addressing Kingsley. “I know this trial is for Draco and his mum but I think it would also be the perfect time to clear the name of Professor Snape. You heard me talk about what he did. He was instrumental in the defeat of Voldemort. For years he strove against him alongside Dumbledore and without his bravery and cunning and sheer intelligence Voldemort would never have been beaten. He shouldn’t be remembered badly he should be rewarded for what he did.” Harry stumbled to a halt, “um, thank you.”

“The court thanks you for your time Mr Potter, you may go. Counsel, do you have anything further you wish to add?” 

“No, your Honour.”

The courtroom paused as Kingsley gathered himself and Draco could feel the atmosphere changing.

“Draco Malfoy”

“Narcissa Malfoy”

“Be upstanding in the court.”

Draco stood up as did his mother beside him. He felt is mother take his hand and he didn’t care how it looked. He was scared. It all came down to what this stern faced, imposing wizard said and what the Wizengamot members decided upon. He didn’t feel eighteen, a fully qualified wizard. He felt like a little kid and he was glad his mum was beside him. He’d made some really bad decisions and if it meant anything now he was truly sorry.

Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat and began to talk, his rich base tones seeming to fill the large courtroom.

“The crimes you have been charged with are great indeed: becoming a Death Eater, a banned and illegal organisation; Supporting Voldemort’s second rise to power; and probably greatest of all conspiring in the death of Albus Dumbledore. Though you didn’t commit the act yourself, it is clear to this court you initially intended to do so.”

“The murder itself was committed by Severus Snape, then a professor at Hogwarts School. I will digress for the moment and address this mater as I believe that it is the appropriate venue to do so.”

“From the evidence presented here today by Mr Harry potter and other evidence witnessed directly by myself and others …”

“It is the finding of this court that Albus Dumbledore was not murdered by Professor Severus Snape. He was murdered by Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort. Riddle had committed the heinous crime of making a horcrux to protect his life. Not just one but several. He had cursed some of these items so that, should they be found, they would harm and eventually kill the finder. In locating and destroying some of these Horcruxes, Albus Dumbledore was struck by two of these curses. It was arranged between Albus Dumbledore and Professor Severus Snape that should his condition become too debilitating or should Draco Malfoy be forced into having to try to kill him, Professor Severus Snape would take his life and spare him the pain.”

“Furthermore this was only one small part Severus Snape played in the downfall of Lord Voldemort. Evidence given today and evidence I have learnt as Minister for Magic and evidence I witnessed as a member of the Order of the Phoenix – leave me in no doubt that without the concerted and sterling efforts of Severus Snape Lord Voldemort would never have been defeated.”

“It is my judgement therefore that Severus Snape be cleared of all charges and furthermore he be posthumously awarded the order of Merlin, First Class.” 

He paused to let the murmuring die down.

“Now as to the people before the court today: the crimes you were charged with appear to be severe indeed, but they are not as terrible as those of some who have appeared before us recently and some who are yet to come.”

This was the thing that had originally worried Draco and his mother. It was still very early days in the trials of Voldemort’s supporters. The battle of Hogwarts had only been a few weeks in the past. Only a few trials had been completed and a lot more were to come – Fenrir Greyback, the Carrows, McNair, Mulciber, Goyle and others. Their own trial had been originally slated for weeks hence. Why had it been brought forward? Were they going to be made an example of? He felt his mother’s and tighten on his own, bringing with it a little bit of comfort. ‘Whatever happens,’ she had said, ‘I will be there with you.’

“As to the charges levelled against you concerning the Murder of Albus Dumbledore, it is obvious to the court that you were caught up in events much greater than yourself. You had to be coerced into attempting the crime by Voldemort’s threats against your family and yourself. As the court has already found the true author of the crime, Draco Malfoy is hereby cleared of all blame and the charge against you is dropped.”

“As to you both being Death Eaters, that charge still stands, though it has to be ameliorated by your actions. As to aiding Voldemort, It is obvious to the court that that help was limited, given under duress and very unwillingly done. You are both Death Eaters, an undeniable fact, but that doesn’t mean everything. Fenrir Greyback, who has yet to come to trial, was never a Death Eater, but his crimes are more plentiful and heinous than most of the true Death Eaters. So the answer becomes what to do with you both because the court believes that by your actions at least, you have surrendered any allegiance to Voldemort you may ever have had. Yours Draco, for not giving up Harry Potter when he was helpless before you, and you Narcissa, for protecting Harry from Voldemort in the battle of Hogwarts. “

“When pronouncing a sentence, a Judge has to weigh up the reason for doing so. Does it serve as a deterrent to other, potential criminals; is it for rehabilitation so the perpetrator can eventually become a decent member of society; or does it merely serve as retribution and punishment for the crimes committed? I do not believe that the community benefits in any way from either of you having to serve out sentences in Azkaban. It would be a punishment, certainly, but who would that benefit? It would be better for you both and for the wizarding world for you to be of service to it.”

“For that reason, Narcissa Malfoy, you shall be sentenced to one year of community service in the Ministry.”

“Draco Malfoy, likewise, shall serve a year as an orderly in St Mungos”

“Ministry auditors have already been sent to confiscate any goods or monies accumulated by the Malfoy family as a result of illegal activities as a part of the sentence of Lucius Malfoy.”

 

“That is my judgement. All those of the Wizengamot in agreement raise your hands.”

 

 

 

In the end the Judgement passed. Not by a terribly great number, but by enough of a majority that neither of them would have to face Azkaban. Unlike his father, Draco mused, who had no Harry Potter to speak up for him. His actions in the battle of Hogwarts did count in his favour, but they were weighed up against a list of actions that had shocked and appalled Draco to hear. Draco thought his father was lucky not to receive a life sentence; instead he ‘only’ had to serve twenty five years.

They waited for most of the courtroom to clear before they left. They didn’t have much choice in the matter, because as soon as the Wizengamot started to leave they were surrounded by journalists. Rita Skeeter was the first to arrive and her camera man, but she was soon joined by others, including the Spinet girl; his suspicious were correct then.

They were bombarded with questions, most of which were fielded by Andrius. His mother didn’t say a word and tried to stop him when he did but Rita Skeeter had always written good stuff about him. She asked him how he felt about not going to prison – “Good, I suppose.” How he felt about his dad going to prison – “Sad, I suppose, though I’m glad he has a chance to get out.” How he felt about what harry had said on his behalf. A look of resentment fleeted across his face but he didn’t think anyone had caught it but he did note a particular gleam in the eyes of Rita Skeeter. He said, “Alright, but I’m not really looking forward to working in St Mungos.”

Eventually they were left alone; all the reporters and some well-wishes had gone. Some of the people who’d come up to them he recognised, relatives of some of those yet to go on trial. A few had looks of hope; maybe their loved ones wouldn’t go to prison either. Draco wished them luck but he didn’t hold out much hope himself; if his father, who had actively and publically withdrawn his support of Voldemort when it counted (in the midst of the battle of Hogwarts), had received a sentence of twenty five years, he didn’t think anyone would be getting much less.

They were finally left to themselves and began to leave the court room themselves. Narcissa took the opportunity to thank Andrius for his excellent defence.

“Especially the way you managed to procure Harry Potter and make him appear for us was a stroke of brilliance. That he was a material witness as well was perfect.”

Andrius looked a little apprehensive, or was it guilty, but then he laughed. “I wish I could claim such brilliance,” he said,” with less canny clients I might, but it wasn’t my doing. It was all him. He approached me. I was going to do as we planned,” he looked at Draco, “you were going to say all that we had rehearsed and pray the court was lenient. But when he came to me and told me what he was prepared to say on your behalf … well I jumped at it. I knew we had a real chance with his testimony. It’s why I could ask such leading questions; we’d worked out exactly how he was going to say what he did. I could even suggest to him some of the phrasing I wanted him to use - if only all my witnesses were so willing to help.”

As Andrius finished talking, they’d just left the room behind them and entered the corridor outside. They stopped after a few steps because halfway down the corridor was who they’d just been talking about – Harry Potter himself. They all regarded each other in measured silence, until Harry started to walk towards them. He started to talk as he came, the words rushing out of his mouth, obviously trying to get out all he had to say before he reached them.

“I’m so sorry Mrs Malfoy. So sorry, I should never have used the sectum sempra curse on Malfoy, Draco I mean. I didn’t know that it would do that, cut him so badly. I don’t know if it makes it worse, me using a spell I didn’t know what it did, but if I had of known I would never have used it on him. I’m so sorry.” He stopped talking as he came to a stop a few paces away from them. He looked up at Narcissa with a look of consternation on his face.

Draco barely had time to register what was happening, when he realised his mother had flung herself the few steps to him and gathered Harry in a tight embrace. 

“You apologise to me, after what you just did for us in there?” she said, “I forgave you a long time ago for cutting Draco; it was soon mended with no long term harm. But what you’ve just done …” she had been holding Harry away from herself as she addressed him, but then she clasped him back to herself again, “thank you, thank you for saving my son.”

Draco looked on, that frisson of anger and resentment coming back. His mother hardly even hugged him that way let alone strangers and even less in public.

Harry managed to pull himself to arm’s length, “That’s OK, Mrs Malfoy.”

“Call me Narcissa.”

“OK, Narcissa,” he struggled over saying her first name, “I hoped you’d forgiven me, I thought you had when you saved me from Voldemort.”

“I suppose this was what this all was then, you in the courtroom; you just paying your wizarding debt?” Narcissia's words had turned colder and she regarded Harry with suspicion, but it was soon put to rest by what he went on to say.

“No, I don’t know, I don’t think so, I didn't feel I had to, I just … it was the right thing to do, you know? What Kingsley said in there is what I said to him. I didn't see that putting you two into prison did any good. And you showed me, Narcissa, what side you were on in the forest. You didn't choose Voldemort, you chose the side of love.” 

She smiled at him and pulled him back into a quick hug then released him with a quiet ‘thank you’ that Draco barely heard. Harry turned to Draco, “So did you, Draco when you wouldn't kill a helpless old man, or when you didn't tell on me even though your dad begged you to.”

Draco could only look at Harry; he was at a loss for words.

“There’s so much stuff, bad stuff, between us for us ever to be friends. Probably. But, I’d like us not to be enemies, if that’s OK?” Harry said as he held out his hand for Draco to shake.

Draco looked at Harry's outstretched hand and then up into his face. He could detect no duplicity so he stretched out his own hand with only a hint of displeasure on his face and shook Harry’s.

Once they’d dropped each other’s hands, Harry said, “Oh yeah, I've got something for you too.” He reached into his pocket and held out his hand again to Draco.

There in his open palm was Draco’s wand.

* * *

**Authors Note: This was my first posted chapter of my first fic. I will be posting about once every few weeks till I am caught up with what has been posted on HPFF**

**Originally, the Harry Potter story that was whirling around in my head didn't have this scene, but in reading other fics I realised the matter had to be addressed. It also wasn't the first scene either, but the timing of some of the events to come necessitated that it come first. So in the end it worked out well - Draco's story will be used as a framing device for this whole story, we will see him again in an intermission and an epilogue.**

**There are also almost no direct quotes from the Harry Potter Books, everything has been deliberately misquoted (the ravages of time upon the memory, don't you know).**

**But as to the events described by Harry:-**

**the events surrounding the death of Albus Dumbledore can be found in Chapter Twenty Seven of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince and the quote attributed to Dumbledore, that of the 'please Severus', can be found therein;**

**Draco's behaviour in Malfoy Manor can be found in Chapter Twenty Three of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows;**

**and finally, Narcissa's actions towards Harry occur in Chapter Thirty Six, again from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.**

**Edit note: just fixed a few typos, took out dob (which is an Australian/NZ slang word - I thought it was also British, oh well)**

**Thanks to TreacleTart for pointing them all out**


	2. Chapter 1: Harry on trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  Harry has some unfinished business at Gringotts

  **Note: If I was writing about Barry and his friend William Westley and meeting the goblin Fishook, then it would all be mine I tells ya, all mine BWHA HA HA !**

**... but, as it is, as you will no-doubt actually recognise the names, all I am doing is playing in the sandbox of a very rich woman and she allows this because of her tolerance and generosity of spirit.**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Wake up Harry we have to go.”

Harry sat bolt upright, reaching under his pillow for his wand, but then the fog of sleep faded and he realised where he was.

The knocking on the bedroom door started up again, “Come on Harry, you said a quarter of an hour would be enough time to get ready.”

“Yeah OK Bill, I’m up. Thanks, I’ll be down in a tick.” Said Harry in a voice which was loud enough to reach the other side of the door but not to wake the entire household.

He’d stayed the night with Bill and Fleur in Shell Cottage. He’d almost been in a different bed every night for weeks it seemed: back and forth to Hogwarts, to the Ministry, to Grimmauld Place and even a night or two at the Burrow. The last two nights he’d spent in Grimmauld Place so that he could attend the trial of Draco. He knew he’d made a difference in the outcome of the case; he just hoped that it would make a difference in Draco’s life.

It was funny, but after what he’d been through: the emotional wringer of being prepared to die at the hands of Voldemort; the revelation of Snape’s true motives; seeing his ‘resurrected’ parents; the final duel; and the heartbreaking body count of the aftermath - after all that, he had very little hatred left in him for anyone. Well, he could stand never seeing or hearing of Umbridge ever again, but…

But as for Draco, he truly only wished him well. Harry had seen by Draco’s actions that there was hope for him. A year serving as an orderly in St Mungo’s in such a menial position, helping every sort from Full Blood to Half-blood to Muggle-born (even Muggles upon occasion) should teach him some needed humility. Only time would tell.

 

That was enough time spent wondering what the future was to bring, he had to get his head in the game about today. It was about himself today; he was the one going to be the one on trial today (or that’s how it seemed to him).

He dressed well, neatly and conservatively, then donned his school robes. They were the only real Wizarding raiment he owned besides his dress robes. He wanted to make sure he was seen as a wizard today, it was important, strategic even.

He came downstairs to find Bill dressed for the day, leaning up against a kitchen bench with a steaming mug in his hands. There were a couple of slices of toast and a cup of tea laid out on the table. Harry nodded his thanks to Bill and picked up the toast.

Bill took a sip of his own tea and studied Harry as he ate. He took in his appearance and noted in particular Harry’s backpack. It clinked and clanked softly every now and then. It prompted Bill to say something, he felt duty-bound to do so.

“It’s not too late Harry, you can still get out of this – you don’t have to go through with it.”

“Nah,” said Harry through a mouthful of toast. He swallowed and added, “I have to.”

“Because you know, Harry, a bit of gold and silver won’t get you out of it. Not by a long shot.” Bill said flicking a hand toward Harry’s bag, “even if your entire bag and everything in it was solid gold it wouldn’t be nearly enough and I have to warn you I’d think they’d be insulted if mere gold was all you had.”

“No, no. It’s not. I mean, this bag isn’t for that it’s for … something else. What I’ve got for them … it’s, um … I believe I have something they want and I do think that they’ll think it’s worth it.”

“If you’re sure Harry?”

“Yeah Bill don’t worry, I’ve got it sorted.”

 

                                                                --o-O-o--

 

They apparated together into the staff entryway for Gringotts. Like Hogwarts and the Ministry you couldn’t apparate directly into or out of Gringotts. There wasn’t even an exception for house-elves. Unlike Hogwarts where they had to be able to apparate to conduct their duties, allowing house-elves to apparate into and out of a bank (or the Ministry) would compromise security immensely. The Ministry had the foyer as their only apparition point because the large numbers of visitors and officials required somewhere with substantial space. Gringotts only had this one small room and even then it was only for the handful of wizard employees - visitors and customers could use the front door, thank you very much. There was a door way to the outside (for the staff who couldn’t or didn’t want to apparate) and it was manned by a goblin armed with something long and nasty and sharp. There was a doorway to the inside barred off by a gateway, through which they could see another goblin armed with something long and nasty and sharp.

The goblin in the room with them gave them the once over, nodded politely to Bill and gave him a quiet “Mornin’.”

“Haftguard,” Bill said nodding in return. The goblin looked into Harry’s bag but did nothing more than raise his eyebrows as he zipped it up and handed it back.

“Good to go,” he said to the goblin on the other side of the iron grating, who opened up the gate and let them in. Exactly the same procedure happened again except this goblin’s name was Ironhand. He opened up the door behind him and let them through

They entered Gringotts proper and Harry wasn’t surprised to see that behind the scenes wasn’t too different from any modern office housed in an old building. Just like he’d seen often enough in Muggle films and TV.

“Now you’re sure I’ll get to speak to Griphook first, before I have to see anyone else?” Harry asked.

“Yes Harry, as I said, it’ll be no problem. He’s become the aide for one of those who’ll be at the meeting. He has to be there and he’ll be the one to take you to them so you’ll have plenty of time to have a quick chat.”

“Thanks Bill and thanks for all of it, for arranging this meeting and you know, all of the other stuff.”

“That’s OK Harry, I just hope … good luck Harry, I’m sure everything will turn out for the best. They probably won’t kill you.”

Harry had to smile at Bill’s attempt at gallows humour but was saved from replying by none other than Griphook himself.

“Hello Griphook, How are you today?” said Bill mock formally.

“Fine, fine. I hope today brings you similar well being.” Griphook replied.

The stilted words were belied by the wide grins as the two shook each other’s hands warmly. The time that Griphook had spent convalescing at Bill’s house had impressed itself upon Griphook. He knew that he owed Bill if not for his life then at least his continued health so he had sought out Bill soon afterwards at the Bank and they had entered into an easy friendship.

“How are they?” Bill asked, nodding his head at something beyond Griphook’s shoulder.

“Ready to eat a young unfortunate wizard alive,” said Griphook with a mischievous and malicious smile on his face which he turned upon Harry, “Ah young Harry Potter, I didn’t see you there,” he said even though it was patently untrue, “the Council is waiting for you,” and he turned to Bill, still with a wide grin and added (in a voice that only pretended to be quiet), “and licking their lips.”

Bill laughed and waved to them as they went through a doorway leaving him behind. The last Harry heard from him was a “Good luck, see you later.” as the door closed behind him.

Harry turned to Griphook once they were alone, “Is it far?” he asked, more to just say something rather than a desire to know the answer.

Griphook didn’t pause, “Nah, it’s just round here, in’it?”

Harry put his hand on the goblin’s arm and stopped him, “Griphook there’s something I have to ask you before we go in. In there I’m going to say some stuff about the break-in and I want to know if they know about you?” Griphook was looking at Harry questioningly. “I want to know if they know it was you that helped me get in.”

“And why do you want to know that?” Griphook asked back.

“Because I don’t want to tell them if they don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to get you into trouble, of course.” Harry said.

Griphook looked at Harry with a bemused expression, “I always said you was a strange sort of wizard, concerned for the welfare of little ol’ me, a goblin youse barely knows?” he changed his tone as he added more seriously, “They know right enough, what I done and I’ve already been punished for my part in it and rewarded too.”

“Rewarded?” Harry had to ask.

“Oh yes indeed. It was me, wasn’t it, which got back the Sword of Ragnuk the First, what you lot call the sword of Gryffindor. It was very briefly ‘cause of all the spells on it, but I got it back. Richly rewarded I was. The break-in was a completely separate thing and I was punished for my part in it, so I was.” Grinning wickedly he held up his right hand in front of Harry’s face. It was now missing the last finger. As Griphook saw the look of disquiet pass over Harry’s face he barked out a wicked laugh. “So don’t you worries about little ol’ Griphook, no indeed, they knows all about it.”

Harry was caught up in his own thoughts as they kept walking. Griphook had revealed something that Harry had desperately wanted to believe. The goblin powers-that-be had treated the recovery of the sword as a completely different matter to the break-in. Harry began to feel much better about the upcoming meeting (trial?), it was exactly how he hoped the Goblins would think.

And it was a trial, mused Harry, every bit as much as Draco’s a few days ago had been. Except though, it was to be held in secret, with no jury of his peers and the judgement would be completely at the mercy of the Goblins. Musing over what he was going to say brought him to a fine set of double doors at which Griphook stopped.

“There is no proper etiquette as such,” the goblin said, “just you be polite and respectful. I’ll introduce you, then I’ll go and sits down and you can say your bit.” And with that he pushed open the doors and ushered him inside.

It was a large beautifully appointed room. Again, it looked like the sort of room Harry had seen in movies – the office of a rich businessman or a high-up government minister.  Wood-panelled and old, there were no windows, instead there were several paintings along the wall opposite the door. They were all, without exception of elderly male goblins and had a similarity of look about them which spelt out ‘BANKER’’ in capital letters. There was a large desk to Harry’s left as he came in and Griphook led Harry to the space in front of it and stopped. Behind the desk sat two older goblins, the one on the left looking positively ancient. On the wall behind the desk was a solitary painting and it was only later after talking to them that Harry realised that it was of the ancient goblin, painted when he had been much younger. Behind them, leaning up against either wall were two larger goblins. One was carrying a large wicked looking hammer; which had a normal hammer head on one side, but instead of a claw or a ball peen the other side had a nasty looking spike. The other goblin guard, because that’s what they obviously were, carried a sort of axe and slung around his neck Harry was surprised to see was a machine gun. It was one of those small black guns, the type Harry had seen in all those movies Dudley liked to watch with commandos or James Bond running around shooting at each other.

To the side was a much less impressive table. At one end a goblin was perched on a stool with a quill in one hand and a roll of parchment on the table in front of her.

Griphook had preceded Harry into the room and addressed the goblins seated behind the large desk. “If it pleases your honours, I have with me Harry Potter who wished to be allowed to talk to the ‘Goblins in Charge’.”

Harry blushed a little; he had used that very expression to Bill. He had no idea his words would be thrown back at him and he was sure it made him sound ill-informed and condescending. It put him on the back foot and he wondered if it was deliberately done or if it was just a bit of mischief on the part of Griphook who revelled in that sort of stuff.

“Certainly.” said the goblin on the right, the younger of the two old goblins.

“Harry Potter, may I introduce Goldsure, chief financial officer and head of Gringotts Bank,” Griphook indicated the wizened, ancient looking goblin on the left who inclined his head at Harry. Harry bowed in his direction as it seemed the right thing to do.

“And Slimshanks, head of the Deep Delvers clan and elected representative of all the clans who have a share in Gringotts.” Harry bowed to him as well – so a banker and a politician, this was the council then; somehow he had expected more members. Griphook bowed towards the two older goblins then left Harry and went to the smaller table and sat beside the scribe. The guards were obviously not worth an introduction, their purpose was glaringly obvious.

Silence stretched out as Harry stood in the middle of the room. They weren’t going to make this easy on him so he thought he may as well get it started.

Harry cleared his throat and began, “You are no doubt aware that someone broke into Gringotts a few months ago. I want to go on the record that it was me, I did it.”

There was a little squeak of a noise from the scribe and Harry looked over, but by the time he did she had her head down again and was writing away. He caught Griphook’s eye, the goblin was looking at him with the same smirky, mischievous smile as he had before. There was no reaction from the two older goblins behind the large desk. They were still going to make him sweat and say his piece.

“I had to do it. I didn’t get anything out of it for myself. I did it because it was crucial in the defeat of Voldemort. He had hidden one of his horcruxes here and I had to destroy it, otherwise Voldemort could not have been beaten. He was your enemy just as much as he was mine and the wizarding worlds. I know goblins were persecuted and killed last year along with wizards so it was better for everyone that he was defeated.”

“So I hope that the reason behind why it was done lessens the severity of what I did. I know it doesn’t excuse the massive damage I did to the building and to your reputation as a bank.”

That got a bit of a reaction from the politician. He lifted an eyebrow in surprise and Harry took it to mean that the goblin hadn’t thought that Harry would recognise that the value of the Gringott’s name and reputation was every bit as valuable as the bricks and mortar.

“Now that you know the reason why I did it I want to ask that I be the only one to have to pay for my, well I suppose my crimes. Some other people helped me to carry out the break-in but I was the leader, I was in charge. I should be the one to bear the burden of punishment and retribution and if I do I don’t won’t you to go after anyone else for reparations.”

The two goblins behind the desk leant together and had a brief confab, “That would be acceptable Mr Potter.” Said Slimshanks.

“OK, so no one else who helped me will be punished further?” he looked at the goblin.

“Yes that is correct.”

“Then I have to say I had help from a goblin. Griphook told me you already know of his involvement, but I want to explain just in case there are any doubts about his integrity or his loyalty. He didn’t do it for personal gain and he only helped us because he was sure of our honesty – that we weren’t just thieves out to rob the place. The only thing he wanted was the sword of Gryffindor which he told me was a long lost goblin treasure, the sword of Ragnuk the First.”

“I feel bad because he got nothing out of it, especially since I saw the sword return to Hogwarts. Griphook,” Harry said as he turned to address the goblin directly, “I didn’t know about the enchantment, I didn’t know it would come straight back once someone had need of it. But, I do know you could tell I was hiding something when we made our deal. I was always going to give you the sword, I didn’t lie about that, it’s just that the sword was the only thing I knew of that could destroy a horcrux so I needed to keep it until they were all destroyed. So I was always going to give you the sword, but not straight away – that’s what I was being dishonest about. I apologise,” and Harry bowed to Griphook who looked a bit surprised, but nevertheless returned the bow with an, “Apology accepted.”

“Especially,” continued Harry, “that you kept completely to your end of the bargain. Strictly to what we agreed upon. It was a pity, for me that is, that when we struck the bargain I only asked for help in breaking in, I forgot to ask for help to get out again.” A laugh went around the room, even the guards grunted in amusement.

“To make up for it I would like to give you something. I want to give it to you in front of the council so there is nothing under-handed about it. It’s Goblin Made, so I’m sure it’s of sufficient worth.”

Griphook’s eyes lit up at the mention of ‘Goblin Made’ he looked to the goblins at the main table. He received a slight nod so he eagerly reached out for the wrapped bundle that Harry took out of his backpack. He feverishly unwrapped it but his face fell when he found it was a piece of the Black Family silverware. ‘Ah ha!’ thought Harry, it was as good as confirmation of what he suspected. As Griphook examined the piece, his initial disappointment faded and his eyes once again gleamed, it was quite a decent bit of silverware and was worth a hundred Galleons easily. “This is too much; I’m now back in your debt, I am, if I take this.”

“Well, I’ll call it even if you would from now on consider me a friend,” Harry held out his hand. Griphook looked at the proffered hand, he blinked and then with a grin on his face took it and shook it saying, “OK, friends.”

“This is all well and good Mr Potter, but I heard you mention repaying your debt to us, so come on how are you going to do so, hmm?” Harry looked back to the main table to see that the elder goblin had spoken; the politician was looking disgruntled that the other goblin had spoken out of turn, but he didn’t say anything to correct him.

Harry retook his position in the centre of the room and said, “Thank you for indulging me.” It’s what Hermione had said to say and he took a bit of time to marshal his thoughts. Before he’d come here the only person he’d confided his plans to was Hermione; not Ron or Ginny, only her because he knew she’d totally understand what he wanted to do and why he was doing it. She’d been right behind him, he knew she would be, and she’d given him a lot of help about what to say and how to say it.

“How should I repay you? What do I have that’s of sufficient value? I thought briefly that you might just seize all my money in my vault.” 

There was a hiss of displeasure from both of the old goblins, as if that’s what they expected of wizards.

“But I quickly dismissed that thought because of what you are,” he looked to the politician to see his eyes narrow in anger, he paused a beat and finished, “Honest businessmen.”

That got another laugh. ‘Hermione was right,’ Harry thought. She’d told him to phrase it like he was going to make a racial slur (a species-ist slur?). She’d said doing so would emphasise their similarities, human and goblin. Goblins thought all wizards thought of them as untrustworthy and money grubbing; by saying this Hermione had hoped he’d make a connection with them. He could see them relaxing – he had them now, they would hear him out. He just hoped he had correctly estimated the value of what he had to give them.

“Just because I’d broken one agreement with you, the unwritten one where we agree not to break in, didn’t meant that you’d break the other agreement between us, the one where you’d keep my gold safe for me.” This is what Griphook had confirmed for him when he had said that he had been both rewarded and punished.

“And anyway it’s not that much gold. I’m sure it wouldn’t cover the cost of repairs let alone a new dragon. Oh and by the way, I’m not sorry at all in helping that poor abused creature escape. The way you treated it was horrible, I’m glad it’s free and I feel no guilt whatsoever in aiding its release.”

“So what else would you want from me? Put me in prison? But I thought how would that help you out? Yeah sure, it’d send a message to future thieves but it wouldn’t do anything to help put the roof back on.”

“Well then what about me, you might want my indentured servitude?” he stumbled a bit on Hermione’s words, “I could personally help put the roof back on, but I thought you’d have skilled workers to do that. So maybe you’d want me to work elsewhere; serving you for how many ever years until my debt was paid off. But do you really want that, an under-trained junior wizard whose only real claim to fame is that he beat someone else when they were basically just pointing sticks at each other.”

“I don’t think you want that either. You have enough skilled labour and qualified wizards lining up who actually want to work for you. You don’t want me working for you begrudgingly.”

He paused and surveyed the room. He had them all following his reasoning and he thought they agreed with it. He didn’t think that any of them guessed where he was going – what he was going to offer them.

He started talking again in a lighter tone. “In case you haven’t been following the news, I did just defeat a Dark Lord and apparently saved the entire wizarding world. It’s been brought to my attention that I’m owed a few favours.”

“I intend to go back to school this year and complete my studies. That’s probably one of the biggest rewards I could get, to be left alone and do what I want” He smiled happily to himself then turned to Slimshanks with a questioning look upon his face, “That is of course unless I’m impressed into servitude here?” The politician had to grin and shake his head at Harry in negation. Harry breathed an internal sigh of relief. 

“So when I go back how would it be if I arranged for a goblin to come with me to study the use of magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”

The room was completely silent. All the goblins were staring at him in disbelief. Even the scribe had stopped writing, Harry hadn’t been aware of the constant scratching until it had stopped.

The politician was the first to speak and he only whispered, “Impossible.”

Harry said, “No not impossible, unlikely yes, but quite possible. You see before I came here I visited the now Headmistress of Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall. She has been in charge of an ancient piece of magic that each year lists those people who have sufficient magical aptitude to be trained as a wizard or witch. Often, not every year, but often enough, a goblin is named but up until now the ministry hasn’t allowed the goblins to be notified.”

This caused an uproar. The scribe slammed down her quill so hard it was ruined and she had to scramble for a new one. The elder goblins were crying foul, especially the politician. “Injustice” “Perfidy” “Humans aren’t to be trusted.” “We could have had wands all along” but they all eventually calmed down when the Politician talked over the rest, “But that’s the problem, so what if you offer us this? So what if a goblin is selected every year? The ministry hasn’t allowed it and will never allow it.”

“Well you see,” said Harry deliberately repeating the phrase he used earlier, “before I came here I also stopped at the ministry,” that got the goblin’s attentions, “and I talked to Kingsley Shaklebolt the new Minister of Magic, who just so happens to be a personal friend of mine, and he said that he’d allow it.”

Slimshanks didn’t know what to say, his mouth was opening and closing but he wasn’t saying anything. He eventually stuttered out “but what … um how would … um, why would you …” Then he looked over his shoulder, just flicked his gaze, but he froze with his eyes wide open. So did everyone else, like he’d given something away. There was a pause where everyone tried to look anywhere but where Slimshanks had. It was like he'd looked for clarification or guidance but the only goblin that was there was the guard with the hammer.

Harry wondered what was going on. What was everyone trying to conceal?

Eventually the guard against the right wall pushed himself off and away from the wall. He walked towards the main table and stopped once he stood between the two seated goblins. Harry hadn’t really realised how large the gap between the two goblins had been, but now he realised that it could accommodate another goblin easily The guard placed the hammer on the table between them, sitting it up as if it was on display. He said, “What my colleague is trying to ask is, why? You could have asked for anything at all and yet you want us to believe that all you asked for is for Goblins to get wands?”

 

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**Authors Note: As I said this story came about from what I thought would happen next and what was left undone from the books. I always thought that the break-in of Gringotts was one such thing. The way the ministry acts and most wizards in general, they would think nothing more of it – it was necessary to the defeat of Voldemort and anyway in the end it’s the problem of the goblins.**

**Harry to me is a different sort of man and my ideas of his basic sense of decency led me to this scene and hence the whole story.**

**If you want to see some of the ramifications of Goblins getting wands then please read my other story set in the Next Gen period.**

**If anyone wishes to comment – especially criticism, it is more than welcome.**

 


	3. Chapter 2: Goblin Made and Goblin Smiths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The true power reveals himself and Harry discusses some of his thoughts

**Note: If I was writing about Barry in a meeting with the goblin Fishook and Truearm, then it would all be mine I tells ya, all mine BWHA HA HA !**

 

 

 

**... wait a sec True arm is mine, all mine BWHA HA HA !!**

 

 

 

**... but, as to the rest, as you will no-doubt actually recognise their names, all I am doing is playing in the sandbox of a very rich woman and she allows this because of her tolerance and generosity of spirit.**

 

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** Chapter 2: Goblin Made and Goblin Smiths **

 

Harry hadn't really paid that much attention to the two goblin guards before. Especially the one on the right. As soon as Harry saw that the one on the left carried a machine gun that fact alone commanded most of his attention. How could the other one compete? He only had a hammer after all. However when he spoke Harry could immediately tell he was something other than a guard. The way he placed the hammer upon the table Harry knew it was more than just a weapon, it was more like a symbol of office. It was old too and it looked utilitarian, like it could be used and was used. There was nothing ornate on it either, it was just a solid, massive hammer – a tool more than a weapon.

His manner and bearing and voice captured Harry’s attention. He was well built, solidly built – it was obvious that the hammer was not just for show; he could actually use it. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, Harry suddenly realised, he hadn’t noticed before because he had been standing with his back to him. It emphasised his pointy nose and made his ears seem to stick out that much more, but standing between the two older goblins Harry could see that his features weren’t nearly so angular as theirs.

Once he’d moved up and stood between the two seated goblins, Harry could see that he was significantly taller than most goblins Harry had seen. And he was used to commanding respect. This was a goblin used to giving orders and, even more so, having those orders obeyed. That was the funny thing, he was standing between the head of the Bank and the chief Politician (as far as Harry understood goblin clans/politics); yet he was not only clearly ranked above them but they very obviously deferred to him and respected him.

The goblin had been patient waiting for a response but when there was none immediately forthcoming he spoke again – he’d obviously mistaken Harry’s silent regard as a failure to understand his question so he elaborated.

“You will have to excuse us,” he said with a trace of sarcasm, “if we leave room to question your motives. Instead of asking for anything for yourself, you would have us believe that you ask for the wizarding world to disrupt its whole society just to repay one persons debt? A debt, mind you, which you know was never going to be called for repayment. I know you are not politically naive, or at least your friends aren’t.” 

That gave Harry a start, how did he know about Hermione’s involvement or was he just guessing. She had been the only one Harry had confided his plans to and she’d helped him with what he was going to say and how he should say it.

“We could never have pursued you - could you imagine it? I can see the headlines in the Daily Prophet now – Goblins Arrest Boy Who Lived. No way. It could never have been attempted, and you were correct in saying he was as much our enemy as yours. I knew goblins who were killed by his own hand as well those killed on his orders.”

“So here you are – paying a debt that need never be paid – and not only that but doing so at the expense of yourself; forgoing getting almost anything you could desire. Do you understand our suspicions?”

Harry felt some relief at the line of the questioning because it was true, there was very little he had actually wanted that he didn’t already have, so he playfully asked, “And what would I have asked for?”

“Why, the usual things one would wish for: money or fame or women or power.” the goblin said with a knowing smile.

“OK,” said Harry holding up a hand and counting off on his fingers each point as he made them. “Money. I’ve already got lots of money, I’ve got a vault full of money haven’t I?” he smiled questioningly at Goldsure the Banker goblin. Who smiled back at him and with a nod of his head confirmed it.

“You were quite correct Mr Potter, the breaking of one agreement, albeit an unwritten one, doesn’t invalidate another. You still have your gold.”

Harry breathed another internal sigh of relief. That was another thing he didn’t have to worry about. He went on, “I’ve also got two houses, admittedly one was destroyed by Voldemort, but property is property, right?” The banker was the one to smile at that.

“Then there’s fame,” counting off another finger, “I don’t want anymore fame, I’d like less if that’s possible. I was more famous when I was two than most people will be in their whole lifetimes.”

“Women, though that’s more a wish thing than what this is. I can just imagine Kingsley if I asked him to hook me up, but I think my girlfriend might have more to say about it.” There were a few chuckles all around from the goblins. “I have a wonderful, beautiful girlfriend and, well, that’s all I want for now.”

“And lastly power,” Harry reached into his pocket and took out his wand. He spied his backpack on the floor and with a flick of his wand he turned it into a wombat. He hadn’t really taken much notice of it and it still didn’t impinge upon his consciousness now, but he’d been using non-verbal spells more and more often. The wombat shook his head and looked around myopically until Harry, with another silent flick of his wand, turned it back.

“I’ve got magic,” he said, “what more power do I need?”

“And, don’t worry, I wasn’t entirely selfless, I did ask for a few things for myself, but it’s just …” Harry paused as he gathered his thoughts and searched for the right way to say what was on his mind.

The expression on his face deepened and he lost his playful air, “Let’s be entirely serious, yeah? I just fought a war. It was against one wizard and his followers but it was also, and in some ways even more so, a battle against the forces of hatred and bigotry and intolerance. I hate to think we all went through all of that for nothing. Yeah Voldemort’s gone and everything’s back to normal, but is that it? Has nothing changed?”

“But this, giving a goblin a wand, letting her study magic, this is something real, something positive that can come from all of the fighting and pain and misery. “ He let the words sink in.

“And if nothing else, I know you said you would never pursue me, but it’s a really easy and cheap way to get myself out of a massive personal debt.”

There was a beat then every goblin laughed.

“But it’s just right, the right thing to do you know? It’s justice. I agree with you,” he addressed Slimshanks, “it’s disgraceful that all these years goblins could have been learning magic. It makes me ashamed to be a wizard. And it’s this big thing I’m supposedly doing but all I’m doing is what should already have been done long ago.”

“And this is the right time to do it, with all this positive feeling in the air. Voldemort is gone; his followers are being tried and punished. We’ve all come away from bad times with losses and you know general badness …” Harry abruptly stopped talking and it was obvious to the goblins that he’d just remembered something. “Oh yeah, in that spirit, I have to say something else. Relations between goblins and humans have been …” he looked like he was struggling with deciding how he could say what he wanted to, “It’s like me and Griphook. When we bargained together we didn’t exactly do it fully trusting each other, um in good faith I think it’s called, and in the end we were right not to trust each other. I sort of hid from him exactly when I was going to hand over the sword. And if he’d been bargaining in good faith, he might have just mentioned I’d forgotten to ask him to help me get out.”

“So in the spirit of good faith I want to say that doing this might be a double edged sword for you goblins.”

“A-HA!” screamed Slimshanks, looking accusingly at Harry, “I’ve been waiting for this. This is where you say, ‘it will be too difficult or ‘it will cost you more’ something so that you can weasel out of it and not have to give us wands.”

“But I didn’t … I’m not saying that.” Harry stammered out almost at a loss for words.

“You just don’t want us goblins all armed with wands.”

Harry didn’t know how the mood in the room had gone bad so suddenly. He looked around at the other goblins and they were all staring at him with suspicious gazes. Even the tall one, his face had hardened – all the camaraderie that Harry thought he had detected on it had fled. He was floundering when he said, “But I’m not doing that. I can’t. It’s only one. All goblins can’t have wands.”

“Exactly,” screamed Slimshanks, believing Harry’s words had proved him correct, “You wizards don’t really want to see goblins armed with wands; once we are it’ll turn you precious society on its ear. You’ll have to listen to what someone else has to say for a change.”

The ex-guard (Harry didn’t really know what to think of him as yet) stopped the politician’s tirade by placing a hand on his shoulder and saying a quiet but firm, “That’s enough.” He was looking at a visibly upset Harry, “I don’t think you have correctly interpreted Mr Potters meaning. Please Mr Potter, explain yourself, in what way do you believe that it will be detrimental for us if goblins were to receive wands?”

“It’s just one,” Harry rushed out before he could collect himself, “That’s all and she might be a failure or she might be great. That’s all I can do.”

Understanding began to dawn on the ex-guards face.

Harry started to calm himself and went on, “But the next year, when another goblin is selected to go to Hogwarts what’s to stop him or her from going – there’s one already there? And the year after and the year after that? Once you have one the precedence is set.”

“I think I see what he means. Mr Potter is only saying that he will give us what is in his power to give us, nothing more, nothing less. The rest is up to us.”

“Yes that’s it,” agreed Harry, “I can’t you know, take a wand and a goblin and give you a goblin wizard overnight.”

“Alright, I understand what you are saying and I apologise for my outburst.” Said Slimshanks contritely, but he didn’t look contrite at all, “I have been dealing with wizards for years and I have seen it done too many times - promises being made and then not honoured due to some ‘unforeseen difficulty’. If you are not trying to do that, then what is your meaning when you say it might be a double-edged sword for us?”

“Ah OK,” said Harry as he steeled himself. What he was about to say he hadn’t discussed with anyone, not Hermione, not Ron, no one. It was really only a suspicion anyway, though he thought it was well founded. There were lots of things to back it up, not the least was Griphook’s reaction earlier, but he had also guessed it was a big goblin secret and he truly didn’t know how they were going to react.

“I meant it will be good and bad because I don’t know how it will affect Goblin Society when only a few goblins can use wands. There are a lot of humans in the world, but in relation there are only a few wizards. And look what happened to our society; we had to hide our very existence from most of humanity.”

“I think the same sort of ratio will be true for goblins as well. There will be only a few.” Harry took a deep breath, “Probably as many goblin wizards as there are goblin smiths, or true-smiths or whatever you call them. The ones that can make goblin made stuff.” There it was his big guess and when he looked at them he could see he’d hit somewhere close to the mark because all the goblins in the room were looking at him with a sort of resentful suspicion.

“What do you mean?” asked Slimshanks into the heavy silence.

“I mean,’” said Harry and even though he knew they wanted him to talk about the smith thing, he disingenuously said, “Because goblins are magical creatures and part of the magical world, it might be bad when you realise only a few, very few, goblins will ever be able to use a wand and preform magic.”

We understand that Mr Potter,” said the ex-guard with forced patience, “I probably do more than you could realise. What Slimshanks meant when he asked you to explain was what you meant when you talked of goblin smiths?”

“Oh that,” replied Harry, “Well what I meant was there will probably be as many goblin wizards as there are goblins that can make ‘Goblin Made’ items,” making the air quotes with his fingers, “Crafters or Smiths or whatever you call them – it’s obvious there can’t be that many.”

“It’s not obvious to us,” said the big goblin who was starting to loose patience with Harry’s dissembling, “please explain to us how you arrived at this conclusion.”

Harry shrugged, “There are so many things that pointed to it it’s hard to know where to start.”

“Please, I want to know. I want to know the steps that led you to such an outlandish conclusion.” Said the taller goblin who was still standing between the two seated goblins. The expression on his face was unreadable, Harry didn’t know how to interpret the spirit the question was asked in so he decided upon honesty in answering.

"OK then if you want it all: I first heard ‘Goblin Made’ years ago from my friend Ron when he said that wizards didn’t share wandlore with goblins and in turn they didn’t share the secret of making Goblin Made stuff. So I knew that there was something secret, but I admit that I didn’t think much about it afterwards.”

“In the years that followed, I saw a few Goblin Made things. Very precious and very rare, some hundreds of years old and still as good as the day they were made. So I realised they were very rare, so the secret must be rare too or – and this is where I began to think more about them - it must be very hard to make them or maybe (this came to me much later) only a few goblins could actually make them.”

"Then I thought about wizard stuff; I used a wizard made wand, but I wore Muggle made clothing, walked in Muggle made shoes. In fact most of the stuff I used was originally Muggle made. So it came to me that there was a big difference between made by humans and Wizard Made; couldn't there also be a big difference between something made by goblins and Goblin Made?”

“Once I looked there was heaps of stuff that confirmed it.” He turned to Griphook, “And I’m sorry Griphook, but your reaction to the Black Silverware was one of them. When I announced that it was Goblin Made you should have seen your face, but once you saw that it was only just something made by goblins your expression changed. It was the difference between you thinking you were getting something priceless instead of something that was merely valuable.”

Griphook grinned back at him and shrugged his shoulders; it was the sort of mischief he approved of.

“But that was only a small part of it.” Said Harry moving on quickly, not wanting to get Griphook into trouble. “The main thing that convinced me there was a difference was this.” Harry reached into his robes and pulled out …

…a galleon.

All the goblins were staring at the galleon in Harry’s outstretched hand and they only stopped and started looking at the banker when they realised that the snuffling sound he was making was actually laughter.

He started to cackle and said with a note of glee in his voice said, “I was there. I was there when they debated it. I was only a young cob, but my father, who was already much advanced in the bank, brought me into the meeting. He said that great things were to be decided that day so I stood in the back and watched it all with wide eyes. It made sense to mint our own coins, sound economic and fiscal sense to do so, but ‘surely,’ the cry went up, ‘surely, wouldn’t the wizards realise?’ The wizards must, must notice and it would give away our secret. But they didn’t. Right under their noses the whole time and they couldn’t put two and two together.” He stopped as abruptly as he started not seeming to notice every eye upon him as his own were only seeing the past.

The big goblin cleared his throat, “You seem to have thought this all through very thoroughly and at this stage I will neither confirm nor deny that there is any difference between, as you phrase it, ‘stuff made by goblins’ and ‘Goblin Made’ items. Nor will I confirm the supposed existence of goblin true smiths.”

He paused and looked around the room. “Well, I think that about covers it. So what happens next, when will we get to meet the first goblin wizard?” and he looked expectantly at Harry.

Harry rubbed his hand through his hair, “Well not for some time, in fact you’ll have to wait about seven years.”

Every goblin made noises of complaint.

“What?” cried Slimshanks.

“Yeah that’s how long it takes. Before that she’ll just be an under-aged, trainee wizard. She will be forbidden to do magic outside of school and she’ll only become a wizard once she comes of age. That’s wizarding law.”

“Seven years,” somebody whispered.

“But that’s why I said this was going to be a double-edged sword – good and bad,” said Harry, “She will be subject to wizard law and by extension so will all goblins.”

Slimshanks pricked his ears up at that and focused on Harry, “What?”

“When she comes of age she will be a wizard and so be under wizarding law and you could make the argument that so should all goblins – all the penalties and punishments of the law, but also all the privileges too. At least a clever politician should be able to make it so.”

Slimshanks began to smile.

“And you’ll have seven years to hammer out any agreement with the Ministry; seven long years.”

Slimshank’s eyes began to gleam.

“If I may offer some advice? I would steer away from the creation of a goblin department if I were you because that’s just a way to push you to the sides. What I’d go for if I were you is integration of goblins throughout the ministry in all sorts of functions and jobs.”

Slimshanks was nodding his head as he rubbed his chin.

“That sounds like good advice. It seems that Mr Potter has given all of this some thought, or at least some of his friends have.” The former guard said looking shrewdly at Harry.

Harry was once again brought to the conclusion that this taller goblin must know Hermione was involved somehow.

“Anyway, does anyone else have anything to add … no?” he said looking around at the other goblins. “In that case we have a decision to make and I would like to hear all of your opinions, because this seems to me to be a fair cross-section of goblin society right here in this room. What say you Griphook?”

If Griphook was unnerved by being selected first he didn’t show it. “I say yes, if nothing else it will be fun to see the reactions of wizards.” He said with a large grin. Since Harry had known him, Griphook had always shown a love of mayhem and other peoples discomfort and this was obviously going to be no exception.

"And you Writesthesky, do you think it should be done?”

She blushed, being addressed by someone who she obviously felt so inferior to. All she could do was nod her head with her eyes cast down still scribbling away recording everything that was said upon her parchment.

Convinced that was all the response he was going to get, the large goblin turned to the guard, still standing with his back against the wall. “And you Axehaft?”

Yes,” he said with a taciturn nod and in a surprisingly deep voice, “it is our birthright. No one should go through life without the chance to exercise their own birthright.”

"Well said, and you Goldsure?”

“Oh he had me with the galleons,” replied the old banker. Addressing Harry he said, “Don’t think you are the first, Mr Potter, to work out our secret. Others have before you, there have been a few wizards who could see the truth that was staring them in the face. But without exception, up until you everyone who has revealed their knowledge of our secret has done so to blackmail and make demands upon us. Until you; you are the first who not only hasn’t asked for anything you have instead wanted to give us something!” He sounded astonished and finished by saying, “Because of that I don’t question your motives at all. I agree.”

Lastly there was Slimshanks who started talking without any invitation. “I agree but I want more.”

“More?” the larger goblin said in astonishment.

“Yes I want Mr Potter publicly supporting it. I don’t want him to shrink away into the shadows and wash his hands of it as if he had nothing to do with it. His presence alone might sell it to some who would question why it should be done at all.”

“After all he’s done you want…” the goblin began but Harry interrupted him.

"No that’s OK, I mean yes I’ll do it. I wouldn’t have started all of this if I didn’t believe in it. I do. It’s the right thing to do and I’ll stand behind it.”

“Very good,” replied Slimshanks, “Then I agree also.”

The taller goblin surveyed everyone in the room and then turned his gaze upon Harry. “So then everyone is in agreement.”

In a stentorian voice which reminded Harry of Kingsley delivering his verdict against Draco the other day; this goblin now delivered his verdict.

“Mr Potter, what you are proposing to give us is worth nothing. It is just talk and promises. Its worth on paper is so much less than the damage you freely admit you inflicted upon the buildings of Gringotts and the harm it did to our reputation.”

He paused and Harry felt something like dread pass over him, had it all gone wrong? He thought they had all just agreed to do it, was he wrong?

“But its value, its value is beyond calculation. Its true value makes your debt to us look like mere sickles and knuts. Mr Potter you have given us the future.”

“Yes we should have had it all along, but it’s been hundreds of years and it could have been hundreds more to come if not for you. It took some one who could see beyond their own self interest, to see a greater injustice and want to correct it.”

“As recompense for our losses at your hands it is too much. In accepting it, it leaves us grossly in your debt. I cannot think of anything to really redress the balance except…” he drew himself up to his full height.

“Harry Potter you are now Friend to Goblins.”

From the expressions on the other goblins faces, Harry could tell that this was a big thing.

“Moreover, you are now and at least unto your children’s children a member of my tribe and by extension a member of the Deep Delvers clan, of which we are a cadet branch.”

From the indrawn breaths all around him this was an even bigger thing.

“And personally you and your children shall attain the rank of Smith and all the privileges and benefits attached to that rank.”

There were now outright gasps of astonishment, so this must be the biggest thing yet. Harry would have to ask Bill about it because he didn’t really understand any of it. Of course he could understand the words, but what did it all mean? He would have to ask because the way the other goblins reacted, all those titles or ranks or whatever they were, was something massive and important. It was making his head spin, he was the one who came here to give them something, and he really didn’t expect anything back in return.

“Finally to commemorate the great occasion of the first goblin wizard; I Truearm smith of the Strong Arm tribe and greater smith of the Deep Delvers will fashion my Masterwork. It will be ever at the service of humankind and goblinkind and …” he faltered and lost his commanding voice and finished off (rather lamely), “do something good that promotes goodwill and stuff.” He laughed, “I obviously haven’t worked out that part yet - I’ve got seven years to do it it’ll be fine.” Then, resuming the commanding voice he said, “And the enchantments cast upon it will be done by the first goblin wizard.”

“Writesthesky, so it is recorded?”

"Yes Smith, it is recorded.”

Truearm blew out a breath and leaned against the table. “Wow, so that’s it then. We accept your offer in recompense for our damages Mr Potter. Furthermore, we agree not to prosecute anyone else who may have aided you. Writesthesky, have your office draw up the necessary paperwork please, especially those outlining Mr Potters new titles and status.”

“Well, we’ve got a lot to do but there’s just one thing I want to know. The correct personal pronoun for goblins is He, just like it is for humans. So why were you always saying she and her when talking about the goblin wizard to be?”

“Oh that’s easy,” replied Harry, “because it is a she. You don’t think I would have said and done all this if I couldn’t make good my promises? When I visited Professor McGonagall I asked if I could personally deliver,” as Harry had been talking he had reached into his robes and now pulled out an envelope, “her acceptance letter.”

The silence that gripped the room was deafening.

All the goblins stared at the letter in awe. The smirk had even slipped off the face of Griphook as he beheld the letter in Harry’s outstretched hand. This was something real; something concrete. Up till now it was just words, but once he handed over the letter there would be no going back. He knew it and he knew the goblins knew it.

Without saying a word Truearm held out his hand, calloused and rough from physical work Harry saw. Harry walked over and gave it to him. Truearm took the letter reverentially and viewed it with eyes full of awe, but then a sort of shock came over his face and he gripped the envelope tightly.

“I want it noted,” Truearm said, his voice slightly croaky to begin with, “that I promoted Harry Potter to his position in goblin society, especially his membership in my clan and tribe, before I had received this letter.”

He handed the envelope over to Slimshanks who also looked at it in astonishment, then disappointment but finally with a grin as he handed it back saying, “Yet another reason it has been to our great advantage to accept your tribe into our clan.”

“We have things to do,” barked Truearm. “You, Goldsure.” He said addressing the banker, “it is a Friday,” looking over at Harry, “which I think may have been planned by Mr Potter’s political advisors. And it’s still early,” he said looking at his watch, “again something that might have been planned. Shut down the bank; say it’s a goblin holiday or a bank holiday or something. Actually come to think of it, it very well may become one from now on. Then we’ll have a whole three days to manage this, which is where you come in Slimshanks. I want you to arrange a meeting of the clans here for tomorrow night. That’ll be enough time to arrange it? Good. I’ll be speaking to the kitchens soon so I’ll see to the start of that part of the organising. Writesthesky, could you or someone in your office, send a few invitations along to Mr Potter by owl post. They will find you where?” he asked Harry.

“Um, probably at the Burrow.” Said Harry uncertainly.

“Writesthesky, could you have them ready before Mr Potter leaves? Good, I think four will do. Slimshanks you may want to meet his political advisor, you may find she has things to say that will interest you. Myself, I wish to meet his inestimable girlfriend, who has made him desirous of nothing else. While you are about it prepare two invitations for Bill Weasley as well; he is so very nearly a goblin friend that we may as well make it official. As a senior member of Gringotts wizarding contingent, I would like to see him involved in this.”

“That’s it, move everybody.”

As everyone started to leave Truearm came over to Griphook.  “Griphook could you go to my office please; on the bookshelf behind my desk there should be a small package wrapped up with brown paper and string. Could you please fetch it and bring it here?”

Griphook nodded and scampered away.

Harry watched him go and turning back found he was alone in the room with Truearm.

 

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**So here is another chapter I hope you enjoyed it**

 

 

 

**I would like to send out a big, big thankyou to Loonylovegood67890 who has done some amazing beta work for me. This chapter would not look so polished nor would it make so much sense without her sterling efforts.**

 

 

 

**Any review, and especially critisim, is welcome and everything is responded to eventually**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter3: Titles and Relatives and Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nature of titles is discussed as well as the nature of certain friends and relations.

**Note: If I was writing about Barry talking to Truearm and discussing (among other things) Harmonium, then it would all be mine I tells ya, all mine BWHA HA HA !**

**... wait a sec Truearm is mine, all mine BWHA HA HA !!**

**... but, as to the rest, as you will no-doubt actually recognise their names, all I am doing is playing in the sandbox of a very rich woman and she allows this because of her tolerance and generosity of spirit.**

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**Chapter3: Titles and Relatives and Friends**

 

Harry watched as Truearm walked back to the desk and picked up the envelope. He looked at it as he held in both hands, studying it as if it told him something more, that Harry could not understand. Without thinking, never taking his eyes off the envelope Truearm turned and lent back up against the desk. 

“Mr. Potter,” Truearm began but then he looked up and with a wry smile asked, “May I call you Harry, we are now clan-mates, after all?” 

“Um sure Truearm, but what was all that? Not that I’m not appreciative of the honour but...” 

Truearm laughed, “… But you are not really appreciative because you don’t know what any of it really meant. You think it must be a big thing because of the way the others reacted, but beyond the mere words, which I’m sure you can fully comprehend, you want to know what it implies.” 

“Yeah,” Harry grinned and ran a hand though his hair – how close were Truearm’s words to the thoughts that had just been running through his head. 

“It is a big thing actually being a Friend to Goblins,” replied Truearm, “it is an honour not often earned and even less awarded. Goblin Friend is more likely to be given to deserving humans.” He laughed, “I can see the expression on your face, yes both are official titles and grant the holder certain rights under goblin law and certain benefits in goblin society. Your friend Bill is a good example, he should have been officially made goblin friend long ago, if for nothing else than his service to us during the recent troubling times: sheltering Griphook; protecting us time and time again from the attentions of the followers of Voldemort. I know for a fact that he personally saved the lives of at least two goblins during the attack upon the bank by Voldemort. No, Goblin Friend is long overdue, in fact he is well on his way to becoming a Friend to Goblins.” 

“Being a Friend to Goblins, basically makes you a goblin under goblin law, but being so is not much in itself because you have no place in our society. There is a hang-over from the old tribal days, your power derives from the kin you can call upon – your brothers and sisters and cousins and Uncles and so on. Our tribe is small and should be relatively powerless except it keeps producing Smiths. Slimshank’s clan, on the other hand, is quite large, but over the years has produced few and relatively poor Smiths. So they allied themselves with us, made us a cadet branch and gave us some welcome security and they got the prestige of having Smiths, good Smiths, in their clan once more.” 

“So you are now a goblin – by being a Friend of Goblins – more so because you have a place, a tribe and a clan. Any goblin dealing with you will be conscious that you are not a lone stray to be dealt with poorly or begrudgingly. No, you have a place and that earns a certain amount of respect. What’s more you also have the rank of Smith, which I think I can justify, not only from your gift to us but also the fact that you have powers that regular folk do not.” At Harry’s expression he added, “Your ability to wield magic. In fact, the new wizards will have to be given some sort of rank equivalent to Smith, or close to it at least; it’s something I’ll have to talk over with Slimshanks.” He shook his head clearing it of those thoughts, “But back to you, being a Smith means you are now very high up in goblin society, but you don’t have that much actual power, because you are a Second Smith of the tribe; I’m the First Smith and any others, like you, are all Second Smiths. The first Smith takes pre-eminence and has all the power. Second Smiths only come into to play upon my incapacitation or death.” 

Harry’s head was spinning. He knew he had been given something big but he still had to process it all and find out how it would affect him in the future. Again he was struck by how he’d come here just to give but received a lot in return. He hadn’t really had very much to do with goblins up till now, but that looked like it might be all about to change. 

Truearm laughed once again at the expression upon Harry’s face. “Sorry it is all a bit too much to digest, I know, and I’ve only given you a sort of summary version. And I know it doesn’t mean that much to you but you should learn, I think … maybe …” He drifted off caught up in a thought. The protracted silence was broken when Truearm clapped his hands together, “Yes that’s what we shall do.” Grinning he looked at Harry, “Sorry just thought of something.” He said, rubbing his hands together with a mischievous smile. He responded to Harry’s puzzled look by saying, “Oh you’ll see what it is, yes indeedy. I just have to see if it’s possible first, but if it comes off, you will know everything you want to know and more.” 

He calmed himself down as he settled back, leaning against the table he was standing in front of. As he leaned back he looked down at the table top and caught sight of the letter he’d put down while talking to Harry. He reached down, picked it up again and said, without looking away from the letter in his hands, “You are no doubt also wondering about my reaction when I first saw this letter.” He was slowly stroking the letter with one thumb as he talked. “Goblin tribe and family structure is … not exactly straight forward. It’s slightly different than in human families, but even in saying that,” he looked up and held up the letter so that the address was facing Harry, “this is my Niece.” 

Harry was surprised, but now Truearm’s reaction made sense. 

“So you can probably see why it was so important that I had it noted into the minutes that I gave you all the titles and everything else before I received the letter. It could have soured the whole thing, there are very many strict laws on personal gain for those in high office.” He added wryly. “You don’t know what this means to me Harry. She is the daughter of my … you’d call him my brother. She lost her mother when she was very young so she has been brought up for most of her life by my brother and I. She’s been pampered all her life. No, that’s not the word, um … indulged! That’s it; she’s had an indulgent father and a doting uncle. She’s gotten her own way and has been allowed to do things denied to most goblin boys, let alone girls. Her father and I love her very much, well loved her very much.” Truearm sighed, “You see her father’s name is Gornuk,” Harry must have made a noise because Truearm stopped in the middle of his sentence, “You know Gornuk?” 

“Yes. No … sort of; we sort of met him when we were on the run from Voldemort. He was on the run from the snatchers along with Ted Tonks and a mate of ours Dean Thomas, oh and Griphook, um there could have been some other bloke too. They went past where we were hidden and we heard them talking. Um, and yeah, I heard on the radio that he had been killed.” 

Truearm sighed again, “Yes, just another victim of that evil freak.” He paused remembering his brother, “Ah sorry Harry,” Truearm said coming back to himself and wiping his eyes, though Harry had seen no tears, “but it’s still so recent, only a couple of months ago, and he was out there, out of the safety of the Bank, because he was on a mission for me.” 

He shook his head in sadness and sighed deeply, but he forced himself to continue, “Anyway, so there she is - my niece that is - no mum, no dad and now only an uncle who … I told you goblin tribal and clan customs are complicated; they are also old fashioned too. She is an unattached girl approaching marriageable age.” 

But Harry interrupted him, “Eleven is a marriageable age?” he said aghast. He suddenly pictured Ginny at the same age; sure she had had a crush on him, but she wouldn’t have wanted to be married off. He suddenly had a chill go up his spine, what if it hadn’t been to him? What if she’d been promised to someone else? Truearm saw the look on Harry’s face and misinterpreted the look of horror, “Oh no, nothing like that – we are not barbarians - but she can be betrothed at that age, receive suitors and accept offers and be married at about 16 or so. I’m unmarried too – so it’s not proper; I’m not allowed to just hang out with her anymore. I’ve virtually had to cut off most contact with her at all. So she’s gone from doing anything she really wants - and frankly having me (a Smith) as her uncle has given her ideas way above her true station in life – to where she is now. She is smart and she’s capable, but she’s also only eleven and now she’s stuck in the kitchens as a scullery maid. She is a total and utter mess.” 

“And now this,” he held up the letter, “It’s like a gift. What it means to me personally … I can’t begin to tell you, it’s, it’s … if I hadn’t given you all that stuff - the titles and all - I’d give it all to you again. I am so totally in your debt I don’t know how to repay you. I know there’s nothing that you want or desire that you haven’t already got.” He said, referring to Harry’s previous remarks and they both laughed, “and I don’t have very much money of my own anyway. The only thing I can give you at the moment is my undying friendship and eternal gratitude.” And he held out his hand and approached Harry. 

Harry straightened up and took the proffered hand thinking how similar this was to what he offered Griphook, so it was with a smile he said, “OK, friends.” 

Once Truearm dropped Harry’s hand he took the letter up in both of his hands once again. “I don’t know if you want to, but do you want …” 

He was interrupted by a knock on the door which opened before he could tell whoever it was to come in. Griphook’s grinning face rounded the edge of the door and his grin got even wider when he caught Truearm and Harry still standing too close together after their handshake. 

“Here you go boss, this what you wanted?” he asked as he handed over a small parcel wrapped in brown paper, just as Truearm had described. 

“Yes, thanks,” he said as he took the package from Griphook. “Griphook, what I’d like you to do now is go and hang around Slimshanks and see what’s happening. Don’t let him send you on any stupid errands, you’re there as my eyes and ears until I finish what I’m doing. Leave him and come and find me if there’s anything you think I must know. Ah better yet, send someone else to get me but you stay with Slimshanks. OK? I’ll be here for a bit then I’m going to the Kitchens and after that… I don’t know, I’ll probably just try and find you and Slimshanks.” 

Griphook gave him a nod and scuttled off, just catching Harry’s eye as he shut the door behind him and giving him a wink filled with mischief. “See you around my young friend.” 

Harry moved back a step or two to where his bag was, next to the table where Griphook and the scribe had been sitting. He leaned back against the table and looked at Truearm who now had the parcel clutched in both his hands; the letter lying on the table behind him. Just as he had done with the letter before, he was gazing at the parcel as if he could see what lay beneath the wrapping and was stroking it with one thumb. 

“Harry,” he suddenly said, “I was fencing around with you before, but I was right wasn’t I, to guess that you’d discussed this - you know coming here, giving us wands – you’d discussed it with Hermione Granger, yes?” 

Harry didn’t really want to drag either of his friends into this before, to protect them just in case everything went wrong. So far he’d been able to keep them out of it, but Truearm had him on the spot. Well he was his friend now wasn’t he and trust in a friendship had to start somewhere. “Yeah OK, I did ask her about some of it – not the Smith stuff though - and she helped me work out what I was going to say and how I was to say some of it. How do you know her anyway and know what she’s like?” 

Truearm didn’t answer. He looked up from the parcel and studied Harry’s face like he was trying to reach a decision, “Harry, is Hermione Granger straight up? Do you know that expression? It means ...” 

Harry spoke over him, “Yeah I know what it means; true, yeah? And honest and stuff like that.” 

At Truearm’s nod, Harry said, “She is. I’ve … oh, I was just about to say I’ve never heard her tell a lie, but I have. She’s told some whoppers, but they were always done for a good reason, to help someone out or whatever, but she is loyal. Loyal and true to her word, why?” he asked, but again Truearm wouldn’t answer. He instead looked down at the parcel in his hands and let out a breath, like he’d come to a decision. 

"I’d hoped so,” he said in only a whisper, but then he lifted his head and spoke to Harry in a clear voice. “It might surprise you to know, that before all of this we had something in common. Both of us were members of a select group of right thinking individuals. Who, though small in number, had goals which would change the world and who rightly believed in equality and justice for all.” 

What was he talking about Harry wondered, could he mean he was a member of the order? The Order of the Phoenix? Harry knew Dumbledore was friends with non-humans – him talking to the mere-folk on the shores of the Black Lake suddenly sprang to mind – could Dumbledore have also been recruiting non-humans in the fight against Voldemort? Like with the Giants, it sounded just like the sort of thing Dumbledore may very well have done. 

But all speculation stopped when Truearm reached up to his collar and flipped it up to reveal to Harry what lay underneath. 

Harry was astonished. 

He stood there staring in disbelief at what Truearm had revealed. 

Because there, underneath his collar, was a S.P.E.W. badge. 

It took a while for Harry to stop staring, but he did when he realised exactly from where it was that Truearm knew about Hermione. The realisation spurred him to speak, “Is that why you asked about Hermione? Whether she’s straight up about this stuff; S.P.E.W. and the House-elves? Well yeah she is, she’s …” he shook his head slowly trying to find the right word; his eyes widened and then he nodded slowly, “committed!” 

“I’d hoped so, truly hoped so, but we’ve been misled before and lied to. I thought from her involvement with you, and her part in the destruction of Voldemort, and what she’s written … it has such a naive optimism and courage to it. I was sure it couldn’t be the product of someone trying to deceive.” 

“Oh yeah,” Harry agreed, “She’s honest about wanting to free the House-elves alright, but you know what you said, about our noble cause and all that? Well … don’t get me wrong, the House-elves are slaves and it’s shameful how badly some of them are treated. So I know it’s, you know, abhorrent and wrong and all that, but I have to be honest with you – what you said was putting S.P.E.W. in the best of all possible lights. I mean, most of us only joined in the first place because Hermione sort of made us.” 

“Oh,” grinned Truearm, “I suspected as much, but it is the first serious attack on the House-elf status quo for a hundred years or more. As under funded and naive and, yes ill-thought out as it is; it has behind it, I believe, a true desire to secure the eventual freedom of all House-elves.” 

“Yeah, that’s basically right, it is pretty amateurish, but Hermione … if she had a spell or a way or a method that would free them all tomorrow, then she’d do it.” The goblin’s expression changed in some subtle way and Harry couldn’t decipher it. 

Truearm looked at Harry unblinkingly for a bit too long, but he finally found his tongue and said, “Harry, you don’t know how much I wanted to hear you say that.” He held up the parcel, “I’ve wanted to give this to Miss Granger for a while now, but I haven’t for a few reasons. One of which was if she were trustworthy; if her cause was true. Now you’ve confirmed it I guess I can cross that worry off my list, but really I suspected it was the case anyway.” 

“The main reason though, for my hesitation, is that this is” he held up the parcel and let out a breath, trying to choose his words, “let’s just say it’s political dynamite. Some real good may come of it, oh yes, but if it were known that it came from the goblins, well that might taint any positive outcomes. You know, ‘Goblin Plot to Destabilise the Wizard Community,’ that sort of thing and I don’t want the good that could come from this to be reduced in anyway.” 

“So if you give it to her …?” 

He gave Harry a look, but then he laughed, “Not that it will matter much soon. I told you that this was dynamite, but it’s just one stick compared to this,” and he held up the letter, “This is an atomic bomb by comparison. So in the places where any of this matters I don’t think they’ll hear the pop of this,” he held up the parcel, “compared to the kaboom that this will make.” He said, holding up the letter once more. 

“So would you mind giving this to Hermione Granger for me?” and he held out the parcel for Harry to take. 

Harry walked the few steps and took it, but a thought crossed his mind, “I’ll do it, but you have to promise me that it won’t hurt her.” 

“Ah Harry,” he sighed, “The first thing you ask of me in our new friendship and cannot do it. I can’t promise you that this will not bring harm to her. I mean,” he looked up and around seeking inspiration for an analogy, “Medicine, that’s it, medicine can be bad for you, for instance, if you take it incorrectly.” He paused, “What I can say is that knowing the little that I do of her, I would think she’d rather have this and take the risks than not. Haters are always going to hate. And the ones who are going to hate her after she does what she will with this are probably the ones who hate her already, simply for who her parents are. No, worse than that, they hate her for _what_ her parents are.” 

Harry considered it for a moment, but gave Truearm a nod and turned to put the book into his bag. Because book it was, now that he held it. He’d suspected that it was – it looked the right size, weight and shape to be one. 

As he put it away, Truearm said behind him. This reminds me Harry, what I was going to ask you earlier. Do you want to come with me when I deliver this letter?” 

He looked so hopeful and Harry wanted to anyway. 

Harry suddenly remembered back to how all this started, in the aftermath of the battle for Hogwarts. He’d seen Neville carrying around the Sword of Gryffindor and it had suddenly reminded him of Griphook. With the recentness of the battle and what it had all been for and against, the germ of this idea had been planted. But he couldn’t act on it straight away, he had to tell Ron and Hermione everything and there was some other stuff to do – not excluding some much needed rest. 

So it was a week or two later, after the funerals and all of the still raw grief of most of the survivors, that he found himself in McGonagall’s office. It was still her old one even though she was now the Headmistress. She told Harry she was resisting the move because, “I’ve been in this room for over forty years, and it’s my home. If I can help it I’ll never go up to that huge, draughty room, with all those past heads looking over my shoulder,” she had shuddered, “No thank you, I’ll stay down here where it’s nice and cosy and warm for as long as I can.” 

After telling her about all his deliberations and asking whether it was possible for goblins to ever get wands, she had smiled and indicated a side table that Harry hadn’t noticed. There were several acceptance letters waiting to be posted. That’s when she told him that about one goblin a year had sufficient magical aptitude for placement at Hogwarts. The unspoken question had hung in the air between them – why hadn’t she ever acted upon it and sent the letter to a goblin. 

“Oh you’ll find the latest goblin’s letter in that pile Harry. I make one out every time.” 

He looked at her questioningly. 

“You are wondering why they are never sent? Well they are, every time; I see no reason why anyone of sufficient talent shouldn’t be taught.” At Harry’s further confusion she added, “The question you should be asking is why they are never received. I made the mistake, when I first started handling the enrolments, of asking the Ministry if what I had before me was correct - an acceptance letter for a goblin; it caused quite a stir, let me tell you. The wizard before me had concealed the fact that goblins could be accepted and I learnt later on that, going back centuries, the people responsible for the enrolments were either racists and concealed the fact that some goblins were accepted or they were suppressed by the Ministry of their day.” 

“I was forbidden from sending the letter so, of course, you know what I did – I sent the letter anyway. But it was magically intercepted, as all acceptance letters now are, on the grounds of ‘assessing the aptitude and suitability of potential magical students’. With some of the disgraceful human attendees this school has had, I don’t see why a few goblins would have been so wrong.” 

Harry had held the letter in his hand and something about the address had sparked a memory of when he received his own letter. Because of Uncle Vernon blocking all of Harry’s letters that came to the house, the letter had been hand-delivered by Hagrid. Hagrid, who was unconnected in any way from his family except for ties of affection, had sought him out and changed his world. 

Oh, it might not have changed the world, but it had changed his one and Harry was filled with the desire to do the same – to be there as some goblin’s life changed for the better and the remarkable. 

Truearm had been patient while Harry had been lost in the past, but he smiled with heart-felt pleasure when Harry said, “Yeah of course, I’d love to go with you as the first Goblin ever receives her Hogwarts letter.”

* * *

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**Author’s Note: The mysterious package has been revealed, well sort of, the actual contents will not be known for many chapters to come.**

**What did you all think of the S.P.E.W. thing? I thought it was a natural for some members of the non-human magical community to take an interest in what was essentially an attack upon the human hegemony of the magical world. If you like it, agree or disagree then you know where to voice your comments (in that little empty box below, titled write-a-review). As always any reviews will be met with a detailed response and lots of appreciation too. The wonderful kudo things on this site are very welcome as well.**

**A big thank you once again to Loonylovegood67890 (Becca) my wonderful and excellent beta. The whole of the scene with McGonagall came about because I hadn’t given any reason for Harry to want to go and deliver the letter with Truearm and Becca wanted more. It forced me to resolve my vague notions about what McGonagall had done with the previous letters and made the story better and richer for its inclusion**


	5. Chapter 4: Lightsthefire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry reveals some of his reasoning and we all meet the goblin witch to be.

**Note: If I was writing about Barry and Truearm going to meet Lightsthefire, then it would all be mine I tells ya, all mine BWHA HA HA !**

**... wait a sec Truearm and Lightsthefire are mine, all mine BWHA HA HA !!**

**... but, as to the rest, as you will no-doubt actually recognise their names, all I am doing is playing in the sandbox of a very rich woman and she allows this because of her tolerance and generosity of spirit.**

* * *

**Chapter 5 Lightsthefire**

Harry and Truearm left the room and Harry was surprised to see a guard stationed at the door, even though Truearm had carried his hammer out with him. Truearm must have seen Harry’s surprise because he said, “The life of a goblin Smith, I’m afraid, a guard almost everywhere I go.”

Yet again the guard was armed with one of those small, black machine guns but as they appeared he sheathed what Harry thought was a ninja sword. He knew they had a proper name, but Harry couldn’t remember. He only knew them as ninja swords because Dudley had liked the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles when he was younger and as a result Harry was allowed to watch them too.

Truearm addressed the guard, “It’s Hanarg, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Smith Sir.” He replied in a gravelly voice.

“Can you run ahead please and get a cart ready for us? We’ll be going down to Kitchen 4 East.”

“Um, Smith sir, what about …” indicating Harry with a nod of his head, “I’m not allowed to leave you with a potential hostile.”

Truearm laughed, “I suppose it is still too early for the news to have spread, but I have nothing to fear from Mr Potter. He is Friend to Goblins and he is now a member of our tribe and furthermore has the rank of Smith.”

As each of Harry’s new titles (or were they more properly thought of ranks Harry wondered) the guard’s eyes got bigger and bigger till Harry thought they’d pop out of the young goblin’s head.

“Now run along and get that cart ready for us.”

The guard saluted Truearm and, without a pause, Harry as well; turning to leave, he started to speed off, but didn’t get more than a few steps before he stumbled to a halt when Truearm said, “We have to go and get the goblin, the one who’s going to become a wizard.”

“What?” Hanarg cried spinning around, with the suddenness of his stop and the speed he was just starting to hit, he nearly fell over.

“That’s correct. Not all goblins will ever get wands but some will and we are off to collect the first.”

Truearm allowed Hanarg to stand there gobsmacked for a little while before he called him back to reality, “Hanarg! Please, the cart; Go and make one ready for us.”

Hanarg saluted them both again and ran off.

“I know what I’m doing,” Truearm said to Harry upon seeing his expression, “this place, the rumours will probably reach the kitchens long before we will.”

Harry smiled wryly, “Sounds just like Hogwarts.”

Truearm laughed back almost as humourlessly, “Let us walk as we talk.” And they started down the corridor, “Well, if you’ve had experience with rumours then you know as they travel they change more and more until they almost have no correlation to the initial facts.”

“Don’t I know it,” Harry said, “In second year I spoke to a snake to stop it from attacking someone; by the end of the day I’d not only conjured the snake myself, but set it on the boy deliberately because I was now, supposedly, the Heir of Slytherin.”

Truearm smiled and shook his head in bemused agreement, “So you know what I mean. The rumours would have started once the first goblin left that room. What I mean to do is put enough information out there quickly enough so that we don’t have everyone thinking they’re going to get wands. You were right when you said it, or Hermione was right at least; it might cause some problems if everyone thinks that they are going to be ‘armed’ with wands.” He made the air quotes with his fingers. “You saw the way Slimshanks reacted and there are a lot more radical goblins than he.”

As they’d been talking, Harry and Truearm had walked down a few corridors similar to the first – wood panelled with doorways here and there. They’d passed down the side of a large office space with rows of desks and goblins working at each. Those who noticed Truearm bowed or tugged a forelock then got back to their work. But Harry thought he heard a whispering start up behind them as they left the room. Then the corridors became stone and were now more tunnel than corridor, until Truearm stopped outside a stone archway. At some point in the past there may have been carvings in the stonework, but they had worn away over time and Harry began to wonder just how old these tunnels were.

“Here we are.” 

They entered a room similar to the one that Harry had come to all those years ago when he first visited the bank. Hanarg and another goblin were standing in front of a couple of carts, waiting for them. The other goblin clambered up into the first cart, but Hanarg stood to attention beside it obviously waiting to help the Smiths to get in.

“Thank you Hanarg, but I’ll take it from here. I’ll drive the cart because I want to talk to Mr Potter alone. You can follow after.” Truearm was approaching the carts, but suddenly had an idea, snapping his fingers, “No, better yet, go and find … ah, who do I want? Hmm … I know, Sharpedge. Go and get him and tell him it’s for extended body-guarding duties. Get him and yourself kitted up for,” he paused considering, “Imminent Threat Level and then come to me, I’ll be in Kitchen Four East. You got that?”

“Yes Smith Truearm,” he turned to Harry, “Smith Potter” and saluted him as well before jumping into the first cart with the other goblin who drove the cart away.

Truearm motioned Harry to the remaining cart, “I’ve just realised - Lightsthefire is about to become the most important goblin in the entire world and Hanarg standing here reminded me that she’ll need protection; her own guard.”

They jumped into the cart, Truearm took the controls and they started to move.

As they began, as the cart got faster and faster (though never approaching the breakneck speeds that Harry remembered Griphook doing - maybe that was reserved for putting the wind up wizards Harry mused) the tunnels were like Harry remembered them: now they would be in a tunnel close about their heads; now it would open into a cavern of vast size; then back into a smaller tunnel once again. They would match paths every now and then with another set of tracks and once they saw another cart heading back up the way they came. And all the while Harry and Truearm talked.

“Harry I was wondering something. You worked out half our secret, but I wonder have you worked out the rest?”

“What makes a Goblin Made item ‘Goblin Made’, you mean?” Harry said, “Yeah actually, I think so.”

Truearm waved at Harry to make him continue.

Harry leaned back, took a breath and started to explain his reasoning. “I first began to suspect what it was with the sword of Gryffindor. It’s what, hundreds of years old?”

“Easily,” said Truearm, “nearly a thousand.”

“Exactly but it’s still as shiny and sharp as the day it was made. Better actually, because I was told that Goblin Made things only ‘keep that which makes them better’. OK, I’m fine with that. Everyone agrees, wizard and goblin alike, that it’s a known property of Goblin made items, but what gets me is how do they know?”

“How does the sword, for instance, know that something is going to be good for it and something else would be bad? It can’t be just by touch because it’s been in a felt-lined case for years, how does it know it’s not good for a sword to be soft and fuzzy?”

“Once I thought that, I remembered something Ron’s dad, um, Mr Arthur Weasley, said once. He said, ‘never trust anything that thinks and you can’t see where it keeps its brain’; or something like that. So once I remembered that, I thought of Horcruxes.” Harry looked apprehensively at Truearm but couldn’t decipher his expression.

“Go on.”

“OK, so what I think is that Goblin Made items must have some part of a goblin’s soul in them.”

Truearm just looked at Harry, he was about to say something, but Harry jumped in, “But in a good way; not murder, not killing someone to split your soul, but someway nicer, a good way.”

Truearm’s expression was still blank, but then he let out a bark of laughter, “Ha! Oh Harry, I’m afraid now we really are going to have to kill you.”

It had Harry going for a second, until he realised how Truearm meant it. So he relaxed.

“Our biggest secret and you work it all out; luckily I’ve made you a Friend to Goblins.” At Harry’s confusion he added, “You are now considered a goblin under goblin law and there are very harsh penalties for revealing our secrets. Not that I think you will.”

“But you are correct, a piece of a goblins soul is bound up within any item which we call ‘Goblin Made’. It has to be something a goblin makes themselves, with their own two hands. Putting a piece of your soul into something has to be an integral part of the making process. You have to lovingly craft it, you have to put…” but he broke off, laughing again and shaking his head. “When I went to Tech I heard a saying.” at Harry’s expression he said, “Oh yes, I went to college, the East London Polytechnic. The Muggles might not know much about magic, but they sure do know their materials technology.”

“The first time I heard a human use the expression I nearly fell off my stool. We were in a foundry class and this guy was making a blade for a knife - a really fancy one - and he was doing a great job too; precise and steady as she goes. Another bloke who was watching with me said, ‘he’s really putting his heart and soul into it’. I was,” he blew out a breath, “floored, here was something forgotten by wizards but retained by Muggles in a sort of folkloric way. One of our biggest secrets, there for all the world to see in a common, everyday expression. Because that is what it is, magic of the heart and home, of wood and stone. Much like your mother’s protection laid upon you by her blood sacrifice. Old, old magic from the time before magic was coalesced by humans so that only some could use it.”

“You see Harry in the olden times magic was everywhere and nearly any thinking being could tap into it depending upon your need and luck; and your talent too, I suppose. It’s something they don’t teach you in Wizarding history, but when the first wizards came along, well those who would become the first wizards, and they gathered it together, concentrated it so that magic became far more powerful, but as a balance it could be only used by some.”

“We, the goblins, held onto some magic. Mostly it was from remembering the old ways, but because we delved so deep into the earth, we still held onto some of the ways of those who tunnel through rock and dirt. For instance we can still tunnel into the never-was and the other-when.” Truearm could see that meant nothing to Harry, he explained, “You’ve been here before, in Gringotts? So you know how large and extensive our tunnel systems are, yes? Well I’m about to show you a whole other lot; the ones we are traversing now are nowhere near those you used to access your vault. How can this be? How can these tunnels exist under a London which has such extensive Victorian sewer systems (and by Victorian I mean large) and the Underground train network? Moreover, London when it’s not built on old bits of fallen down London is built on clay and sand and eventually chalk and limestone. Where is all the igneous rock that these tunnels are obviously carved through?” he waved an arm at the ceiling of the cave they happened to be traversing. “Most of the actual tunnels were bored through the never-was, but where possible we like to use the caverns formed naturally in the other-when.”

“Do you remember when you first came to Gringotts and got gold from out of your vault? Do you remember it getting colder as you went down then colder and colder the further down you went? Yes? Well that doesn’t happen in a real cave. It gets colder for the first bit, but then the thermocline evens off and actually starts to get warmer. Yep, true.”

“Yeah, even more confused?” Truearm said, smiling at Harry’s obvious confusion,

“We’re getting off track, what was I talking about, before? Something about Goblin Made things and … oh, yeah, Horcruxes. So Harry, think about this - if what we do is to put part of our souls into an object out of love - love of the crafting of the thing and yes there is some mystical-slash-magical stuff too, but mostly it is about making something with love and a deep respect. So if this is what we do can you imagine what we think of Horcruxes?”

He didn’t give Harry any time to answer, but Harry could see where he was going.

“Horcruxes are an abomination, reviled by us. Goblin Made items don’t keep a goblin alive, they can’t, it’s more about sharing yourself on a deep, almost spiritual level. It’s about gifting part of yourself to something you cherish, something you brought into being by your own hands.”

“Consequently, we destroy any Horcruxes we find, and we do get a few. Often times those wizards who make a Horcrux must think, ‘what’s safer than Gringots?’ Not knowing they are giving a precious part of their soul to those who not only want to destroy it but also know how to detect one and have the means to destroy it. I’d love to be there and see the expressions on their faces when they think they are safe from death only to find that their horcrux has already been destroyed.”

They chuckled together, but Truearm broke into his own laughter, “So Harry you know what this means?” Harry tried to think, but shook his head.

“You never had to break into Gringotts at all. If you’d just come to us and told us there was a Horcrux that we’d missed, we would have happily destroyed it for you.”

Harry’s mouth had fallen open as he looked at Truearm in disbelief. Truearm couldn’t help himself and burst into laughter at Harry’s expense. Harry couldn’t resist either at the absurdity of it - all that effort and all that danger they went through and all they had to do was knock on their door. No not even that, send them a note – 

‘Dear goblins,  
Horcrux in the Lestrange vault,  
a little cup with a badger on,  
thought you should know.’ 

And they would have done the rest.

So both of them laughing fit to burst is how they arrived at their destination.

\--o-O-o--

 

Harry hadn’t taken much notice of the tunnels around him for most of his journey. He paid attention now though when they burst out of the darkness and into the light. At first Harry thought the tracks must have gone outside because it seemed to be daylight, but it couldn’t have been because Harry could see the roof. It was a gigantic cavern, vaguely beehive shaped - not the square modern ones that Harry had seen in fields near the Burrow, but the dome/cone shaped ones of the cartoons.

The cart hadn’t shot out into the cavern proper. Harry could see that the track ran in a great spiral around the walls; sometimes on trusses thrust out from the sides of the cavern; sometimes in open niches carved in the caverns walls; sometimes disappearing from sight altogether. There was also another part of the track, which didn’t have rails and sometimes became stairs? It confused Harry no-end and it was only later when he reached the bottom where he found it was actually a double spiral - there were two paths. Starting at the opposite side of the cavern was the other track for pedestrian traffic. Windows here and there dotted the walls of the vast cavern occupying the spaces between either track.

The floor of the cavern was oval like a Quidditch pitch, though bigger in size. There was a path around the outside of the floor against the walls that seemed to be empty of everything except for foot traffic and the occasional cart pulled by some sort of creature Hagrid had never shown him. In the centre were tables, some with covers or awnings over them and as Harry got closer he realised that it was some sort of goblin market.

He came back to himself and saw Truearm smiling at his wonder, “I’m glad you appreciate it Harry, this is a wonder of the Goblin tunnelling and construction arts.”

Harry was startled as something sped past him and was more than a little surprised to see that it was a goblin on a broom. 

The goblin on the broom came back around and kept pace with the descending cart once he’d seen who occupied it. He gave Truearm a salute and asked if he could be of any assistance. Truearm waved him away, telling him that he was only going to visit Kitchen Four East. Harry could see that the goblin on the broom was wearing some sort of uniform so he thought he must be a policeman of sorts - or the equivalent – patrolling the markets, checking out any new arrivals to the cavern.

Truearm caught Harry’s surprise and correctly judged that Harry hadn’t thought that goblins could ride brooms. “I told you our magic was limited and so it is compared to what you wizards are capable of, but we truly do belong in the magical community. There are quite a few things that muggles can’t do or use that we can, and riding a broomstick is one of them. There are a few other things, but the main one of note is potion brewing. We can make most of the simple potions where magical talent is irrelevant and really all you need is access to magical ingredients.”

They reached the bottom and, almost as soon as he alighted, Harry looked up, expecting to see a small patch of sky or the sun at least. Instead all he saw were the cavern walls finally meeting in the roof and several bright spots that he couldn’t look at for long without hurting his eyes. Here then was the source of the light that permeated the cavern.

“Expecting to see the sky, Harry?” Truearm asked with a smile.

Harry nodded, “It’s just”

“…Just so much like daylight.” Truearm interrupted. “There are a clever series of tunnels and mirrors and lenses, so that we share the daylight hours of the world above. During night time we can coax a decent amount of light from the moon, depending upon its phase. On darker nights or in the tunnels and rooms further away from the main cavern, the light is boosted by either artificial means or bio-luminescent plant life.”

They walked through the markets from where the cart had stopped and the goblins encountering Truearm would bow to him and greet him as he passed and, more often than not, place their hands upon the face of the hammer he carried. Truearm explained to Harry as they walked that the Hammer was an old and highly revered Goblin Made artefact, said to have been made by the first true goblin Smith of England. It brought good luck and blessing upon those who touched it, or so superstition would have it.

Harry felt like a giant walking through the markets because he was literally head and shoulders above most everyone else. There were a few taller goblins, like Truearm dotted here and there. Harry hadn’t realised it before, but Truearm was far taller than the average goblin and came up to almost his shoulder. Most of the others Harry had to deal with had been behind desks so he hadn’t noticed so much. But here, in the relatively normal setting of a market, the kind you might find in any country town around the world, the difference between heights became noticeably apparent.

He didn’t know where they were going at first, but looking back he realised they were travelling in a straight line (as straight as weaving between market stalls could get) from where they alighted to a spot on the other side of the great floor. They reached the other side and Harry almost tripped over mine cart tracks. He realised that there must be a ring of tracks which circled the gigantic room. It made sense - if you wanted to bring down a load you would want to unpack it as close to its final destination as possible. Like one of the several large doorways that were spaced at irregular intervals around the walls. Just like the one they were headed to now.

Harry suddenly understood why Truearm hadn’t just ridden the mine cart round the track to their destination – he was doing that ‘leader’ thing. Getting out amongst the people who obviously didn’t see him all that much (judging by the greetings and the snippets of conversations Harry overheard). He was riding the tide and flow of his people letting them touch the ‘mystical’ hammer, which they probably saw even less than him because Harry guessed that it was only brought out on official occasions – when Truearm was being ‘The Smith’. A murmur of conversation seemed to follow them until they reached the other side and passed through a great archway.

They walked down a corridor and turned several ways till Harry wasn’t exactly sure of the way back. Reflected daylight had been replaced by torches and, Harry was surprised to see, electric lighting by the time they reached a big and impressive doorway. K4E was written across the door in large grey letters. They knocked and entered.

It was a Kitchen. A big Kitchen.

Harry’s first thought was of those TV shows his aunt liked to watch of Victorian times with maids and servants and butlers. It was like the kitchens of Hogwarts in some ways except the Hogwarts kitchen space was dominated by the four huge house tables that mirrored those of the Great Hall above.

There were three large kitchen benches which occupied the main part of the floor. There were a pair of huge ranges on either wall with a double sink between each. The back wall had a bench that stretched the length of the wall between two doors on either end which obviously led to the pantry. Obvious because goblins would go through the left door empty handed and come back out the right door laden with produce.

And everywhere he looked there were goblins.

He could have been mistaken, but Harry thought everyone he saw was female. He hadn’t had much experience with female goblins before, mostly he’d seen males. The females were a lot better looking than the males, less bumpy and wrinkly and warty, but come to think of it, Truearm wasn’t bad looking himself. Nor was the younger guard he’d met, Hanarg, so maybe it was just the old goblins of the bank who looked so ‘gobliny’. Every one of the Kitchen staff were wearing a big white apron and a white lacy hat on the front of their heads. It reinforced the whole 18th century feel to the place.

They were all preparing food on the main tables and, oh cooking there as well. There must have been cook tops there which Harry hadn’t seen earlier because he saw a sudden gout of flame rise up from the table and the cook in front of it was moving a pan around and doing that flicky thing that caused the contents of the pan to flip up and back down into the pan.

But Harry also caught an air of not-quite-right. Not every goblin was gainfully employed. There had to be some working, because a kitchen like this probably never stopped preparing some sort of food from Breakfast till Dinnertime. But there were little knots of goblins talking to each other here and there. As Harry and Truearm’s presence became noticed their eyes would flick to Truearm and then they would be back whispering together. And here now, striding towards them came a goblin, middle aged if Harry was any sort of judge and with subtly different clothing. Everything about her from her demeanour to her stride to her clothes set her apart and indicated that here was the one in charge.

She stopped in front of Truearm and gave him a neat little courtesy.

“Peace be upon your hearth,” he intoned.

“We thank you and welcome you to Kitchen East Four. Come in and share the warmth.” She said in a rich and surprisingly melodious voice.

“Thank you,” he struck the hammer’s shaft against the floor, “Blessings be upon you all and may your fires only go out when you want them to.”

The formalities seemed to be over because everyone relaxed slightly.

But then, in a voice remarkably different from the pleasant one she used before, the goblin said, “Though when I find out who went over my head and contacted the Smith, they won’t be feeling very bloody peaceful.” And she glared about the kitchen and all the goblins - most were younger girls but there were a few matronly types - quivered under her baleful gaze. “I’m sorry you were called,” she continued in a more pleasant way, “I was just going to deal with the matter myself, but seeing as you are here, you’d better deal with it.”

“I’m afraid I know nothing of what you speak. I come here for purposes of my own.” Said Truearm and not for the first time Harry noticed that he had a much different way of talking, of tone and language, when he was doing so in public rather than when he talked to Harry alone.

“Oh,” she said and slightly relaxed her over-stiff posture, “perhaps you’d better come into my office.”

They walked through the kitchen to a door on the right Harry hadn’t seen before. As they were walking the goblin said, “So no one told you of our troubles - good! It is good to know that the loyalty and discretion of the K4E workers can be counted upon.” Harry saw more than one goblin behind him relax visibly and sigh in relief.

Just before she got to the door she whirled around and shouted out, “Keep your fucking hands out of the soup, Singssosweetly, or next time I’ll not tell you; I’ll put my boot to your backside and kick you out without a reference.” 

She threw open the door and said in a voice that didn’t carry, “I swear that girl … I’d kick her out tomorrow except that she’s one hell of a cook, probably end up running this place one day, if she’d only learn not to lick her fucking fingers and put them in the bloody food.”

She led the way and Truearm followed directly behind. Harry shut the door behind them all, but when he turned it was to see Truearm and the goblin matron embracing. He didn’t know where to look, until he heard Truearm chuckling.

“Harry I’d like you to meet … well I suppose you’d call her my cousin, Stampofiron.”

Stampofiron laughed at Harry’s previous discomfort too and gave Truearm a playful slap on his arm. “Pleased to meet you Harry Potter, I’m not nearly as harsh as my stern name would suggest, but don’t you dare tell any of my girls that.” She curtseyed to Harry and held out her hand for him to shake.

Harry bowed awkwardly to her before he took the proffered hand. She had a surprisingly strong grip.

“Um, pleased to meet you too.”

“So what’s all this?” Truearm asked, “Why did you think I’d been called here?”

“Lightsthefire, of course, what else would it be?”

Truearm sighed and slumped his shoulders, “What’s she done now?”

“Don’t cop that attitude with me,” she scolded, “it’s mainly your fault, you and that good-for-nothing brother of yours.” She lowered her gaze and added in a much more sombre voice, “May his grave forever remain undisturbed.” Truearm bowed his head too.

“Both of you filled her head with fancies totally unconnected with reality.” She continued, back to using her scolding voice, “and she’s smart too, which makes it all the worse. She rails under the scut work, but her position and cooking abilities don’t warrant anything more than peeling the potatoes or scrubbing the pots and the like.”

She waved her arm, indicating the Kitchen that lay beyond the closed door. “There are girls who dream of coming into my kitchen. I’ve had more girls go from my kitchen to manage their own than from any other. There are heaps of other kitchens not worthy of the name, not to point the finger, but Two West for instance; just saying. And I wouldn’t step foot into most of the South Kitchens either, regardless of the blood feud.”

“This is a great Kitchen and she’s a disrupting influence, Truearm. I took her on as a favour to you and because she’s kin and cause there’s nowhere else for her to go, but I’m rapidly coming to the end of my patience with her.”

“She didn’t do anything too bad this time did she?’

“Not that bad. She was ordered to do something and, as she’s done before, she worked out an easier way to do it. But it’s not the traditional way and one of my older staff, who’s a bit set in her ways, clashed heads with her. Lightsthefire chucked a fit, broke some stuff and now refuses to come out of her bloody bunk.”

She had her hands on her hips and an air of exasperation by the time she’d finished, but then her expression changed as she noticed Harry listening in.

“Is it OK to be talking so in front of an outsider? I assume he must be Goblin Friend at least to be here, but …?”

Truearm laughed, “Yes, Harry Potter is now a Friend to Goblins and his affiliation is to our own tribe.”

A pleased expression came over Stampofiron which totally transformed her face. She approached Harry and pulled him down to her level; holding his face in both hands. “Good. Yes.” Moving his head from side to side and studding it from all angles. “Yes. Welcome to the tribe, Harry Potter. Yes he’s a good one alright, hmm, and there’s something else …” she looked thoughtful for a moment then almost absent mindedly gave him a kiss on the forehead and let him go.

“It’s about time that council pulled their collective heads out of their collective arsehole. I was saying all along he should be rewarded for bringing down that … that, you know I can’t think of swear words bad enough for that bastard. Voldemort killed your brother, or his followers did at least, and nineteen years ago he killed my beautiful, wonderful sister. May that shit-heel rot in hell. I’m glad they rewarded Harry, no matter what he done before.”

“Well it wasn’t quite like that, you see Harry here came into Gringotts to answer for his crimes; for breaking in and all the damage done afterwards.”

“Are you serious? I thought they were going to excuse him all that, given the nature of his reasons for doing it? I mean, if we’d have known, we’d have done the bloody same. Those dunderheads, pulling him in here.” She was shaking her head in disbelief.

“Hold on, hold on, you’re not letting me finish. I didn’t say we brought him in, he came in of his own accord.” And he turned towards Harry, “Sometimes Stamps-her-foot can fly off the handle a bit too – ouch!” he exclaimed because Stampofiron had flown across the space between them and punched him hard in the arm.

“Don’t you call me that.” She yelled at him, “that horrible old nick-name, or you’ll see what else I can do with my foot.”

“Ow, OK. That hurt. Don’t worry Harry, Smiths normally get treated with much more respect than this; I’m sure you’ll be treated better.”

This stopped Stampofiron in her tracks, looking at Harry with a wide open mouth, “He’s a Smith?” she breathed.

“Yes, if you’d just let me explain, Flys-off-the-handle.”

That snapped her out of her amazement. “I’m warning you, I’ve got access to a kitchen full of heavy pans and sharp knives and you don’t want to find out just what I can do with them.” She glared at him for a bit then harrumphed, sat on the edge of the desk behind her and crossed her arms, “Go on then and explain it all.”

“As I was saying, he came in of his own free will to make amends. I ask you, how many other wizards having gotten away with it - and knowing that they probably wouldn’t be punished for it - would have done the same?”

She quirked one side of her mouth up and nodded as if to say, ‘you got that right.’

“Especially that it was goblins affected and not wizards.”

She nodded even more.

“He even made sure that Griphook wouldn’t get punished further for his part in it and paid him in silver to-boot.”

She looked at Harry askance, “Are you for real?” which made Harry smile and shrug.

“So he wonders how he’s going to pay for his crimes.” Truearm continued, “And he lays it all out for us – why he didn’t think we’d take his money, or want him in prison, or his servitude. He had something else in mind” and Truearm paused to smile at Harry.

Stampofiron got impatient, “Well, what’s he going to do?”

Truearm turned his smile onto her, “I’m surprised we got here before the rumours. He did a bit of investigating and pulled a few favours and gave us this.” He pulled the letter out and handed it over to Stampofiron.

She looked at it and all it was to her was an envelope, the writing on it in green ink addressed to:-

Lightsthefire  
Bunk #2  
Pantry #4  
Kitchen Four East  
Gringotts

She clearly didn’t know what it meant; she shrugged her shoulders, “So?”

“I’m not surprised you don’t recognise what that letter is and what it means.” He turned to Harry, “Oh I’m getting goose bumps up the back of my neck – you don’t know what this means for us.” Turning back to Stampofiron he continued, “You hold in your hands the acceptance letter allowing Lightsthefire to go to Hogwarts to study magic.”

She didn’t move, not a muscle, for several seconds and then she burst into tears. Truearm’s expression went from one of joy in being able to give someone good news to an anxious concern. He went to her, gathered her up in his arms and comforted her.

Suddenly Harry realised - the goblin reminded him of Mrs Weasley. She didn’t look like her at all, but she had that same bearing, a no-nonsense sort of person confident in her own abilities; well like Mrs Weasley except for all the swearing. If the news that they were finally going to be allowed to use wands affected someone like this (someone like Mrs Weasley) so deeply that it made her cry - for what? Joy? Doubt that it would ever have happened? Hope? All of the above? If this is what it did, then Harry knew, beyond all doubt, that what he was doing was the right thing.

She stopped crying after a bit and pulled herself away from Truearm without letting him go, so that she could look him in the face, “You are serious? This isn’t some sort of lie or a trick is it?”

“No. No it’s not. He got permission from the Headmistress and the Minister for Magic as well. It’s all straight up. Lightsthefire will be the first goblin witch ever.”

She disentangled herself from Truearm and went to Harry. She hugged him and kissed him on one cheek then the other, all the while saying, ‘thank you, thank you.’ She let him go and wiping the tears from her eyes she straightened up. “Thank you, Smith Potter.” And gave him a deep curtsey.

“Well,” she said straightening her apron and improving her appearance, “we should go and tell her then. Just have to tidy myself up a bit, can’t let my girls see that I actually have emotions can we.”

She led them to the door and as she opened it she laughed, “Well at least that solves my problems with Lightsthefire.”

She led them through the kitchen and asked someone if Lightsthefire was still in her bunk.

They reached the pantry IN door, but Truearm put a restraining hand on Stampofiron’s arm, “Wait a sec, I’d better say something.”

He turned to address the room. He cleared his throat, but he needn’t have bothered as everyone in the Kitchen was starting at him already. “Tomorrow night there will be a meeting of the clans here at Great Cavern East. I’ve heard many good things about this kitchen, more to the point I’ve tasted many good things which have come out of this kitchen. Kitchen Four East will take the leading role in the preparation of the great feast to take place.”

All business, Stampofiron asked, “How many coming?”

“Heads of clans and main entourage, say ten to twenty for each, plus most of the goblins of the East Cavern.”

“All right then, Three to Four hundred goblins, five hundred if we’re unlucky” she said loudly, but she was interrupted when Truearm said, “And a few Wizards too, or should I say human wizards.”

Stampofiron gave him a quick look filled with hope, but then she was all business again. “Alright then, Supervisors: I want one of you to organise the rest of today’s meals – keep it simple; plain, easy to prepare stuff and if they complain tell ‘em they’ll eat well tomorrow.”

“The others can start making the pies and stocks and any slow-cooked stuff in preparation for tomorrow. I’ll need a runner ... you Singsosweetly, since you can’t keep your fingers out of the food, I want you to go to the other East kitchens and ask them – nicely, mind – to send their head cooks here for a meeting with the Smith in … half an hour? No, better make that an hour.” Truearm gave her a nod of confirmation. She gestured for the young goblin to come over to her. Harry hadn’t really seen her before; she was quite young and had a sort of blond bob style of haircut which surprised Harry. He hadn’t really thought of goblins as having lots of hair before but as he looked around now, really looked and took it in, he realised that all the goblin women in front of him had a range of hair colours and styles not dissimilar to the human world. Most of the hair was done up or short because it was a kitchen and health standards and stuff and the pinny’s obscured their hair as well, but Harry realised again that what he had been used to thinking of as ‘goblin’ was largely male and old male at that.

When she arrived Stampofiron said in a low voice, “This is the first test of your inter-kitchen skills. I think you have great potential, as a cook and as a leader too, so don’t fuck this up, OK. Now off you go.”

Singsosweetly sketched a quick salute by tugging at her pinny and turned to hurry off, but Truearm halted her in her tracks.

“Before you go,” and he raised his voice so all the kitchen staff could hear. “There is a reason for tomorrow night’s gathering and it is not just a celebration of the defeat of the dark wizards – though one is overdue. What with the rebuilding and the horrible number of fatalities, none of us have felt like celebrating all that much. Tomorrow night is for a different reason, for something far more momentous and important; tomorrow night we celebrate the future. Harry Potter, who now has the rank of Smith,” there were ‘oh’s and gasps from the staff, “has used his influence to gift us with something quite remarkable. As I was saying to Stampofiron, I’m surprised the rumours haven’t reached here yet, but this year a goblin will be going to Hogwarts to study magic and use a wand.” The last had to be said over the noise as everyone reacted at once. There were shouts of joy and crying and laughter. Truearm let it go for a bit then over-rode the hubbub with his stern voice, “Not every goblin will be able to do magic or to use a wand.” The noise subsided. “About one goblin a year, on average, will have sufficient magical aptitude that they can use a wand and be allowed into Hogwarts.”

“Unfortunately wands won’t be for everyone, that’s not how it works. I won’t get one, your parents won’t and probably neither will anyone here. To most of us a wand will be nothing more than a fancy stick. Each year an eleven year old goblin, somewhere amongst the clans of England and Scotland and Ireland, will receive one of these,” and he held aloft the envelope, “an acceptance letter into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and go there to study magic. So carry on, you have duties to attend to as do we. We are off to inform the girl who will become the first goblin witch.”

There were whispers all around the room as they left and just before the door closed Harry heard, ‘it must be Lightsthefire.’

As soon as the door shut behind them and no other goblin could see them, Stampofiron kicked Truearm in the backside.

“Ow, what was that for?”

“Thanks for the fucking warning. ‘Oh yeah, by the way, you have to prepare a feast for hundreds and here’s only a day’s notice.’ You’re lucky I’m good or you’d be stuffed.”

Truearm was rubbing the seat of his pants, but wisely chose to say nothing in the face of Stampofiron’s ire. She harrumphed again and led the way past a couple of doorways and stopped before one which had a number four over the lintel. “She’s around the corner, but I don’t know what mood she’ll be in.”

They all entered the doorway, Truearm with a tentative, “Lightsthefire?”

It was a pantry, everything that a pantry for a big kitchen like this would be thought Harry; he could clearly see over the heads of the two goblins in front of him. Floor to ceiling shelves lined each wall containing sundry boxes and jars and tins of food stuffs and when Harry got a chance to look, there was even shelving above the doorway. One section of shelving though had been made into bunks. A ladder went up the row of four, no five bunks (there was a mattress on the floor under the bottom bunk) and sitting on the second bunk from the bottom was a goblin girl. Sitting there reading a book, until she caught sight of them coming through the doorway. She threw her book down, screamed, “go away,” and flung herself down on her mattress with her back to them all.

“Lightsthefire,” Truearm said gently, “I’ve got something for you.”

“Go away,” she yelled again, “it’s too late, my birthday was days ago. I don’t want anything from you.”

Harry realised that of course it must have just been her birthday, he had her letter and it was always given to wizards and witches on their eleventh birthday.

Truearm turned back to Harry, holding his hands up and rolling his eyes to the ceiling mouthing the words, ‘I forgot her birthday.’ He was shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head in defeat. Stampofiron gave him a look which seemed to say, ‘men!’ and began to talk to the girl firmly. “Now, Lightsthefire, we have…”

But the goblin girl interrupted her as well, “I’m sorry I broke the plate Cook, but I’m not sorry I told that old biddy to go boil her head.”

“Now I don’t think…” Stampofiron began again, but was interrupted once more by Lightsthefire, “I don’t care. You didn’t remember my birthday either. You remember all the other girl’s ones and make a fuss, but not mine oh no. I’m just a bother to all of you; to you and my Uncle and everyone else; so just go away and leave me alone.”

Truearm started to protest but Harry put a hand on his arm and quietly said, “Let me have a go, I think I know what to say.”  
He approached the little form on the bed, “um, hello.” She curled in on herself even more, “My name is Harry and I’m very pleased to meet you.”

She grunted.

“I know how you must feel.”

That got a response, an angry one, “No you don’t. No one knows how I feel.” She shouted without turning around.

“I suppose I don’t,” agreed Harry, “I was only one when Voldemort killed my parents.” And he sat down on the bed next to her.

Her astonished face appeared as she turned over to look at him.

“So I don’t know exactly how you feel. Though I wonder who has it worse, you or me? I was far too young when they died to remember them, so I don’t know how they were. In some ways it’s easier to not miss what you never had. You though, you know exactly how awesome your dad was; Truearm told me, he sounds great. So it could be harder for you because you know how good you had it before it was all suddenly taken away from you.”

“You had this great life and then bang, it’s suddenly gone and you’re forced to come here.” He looked around the cramped little bed space. There was a pillow, sheets and a blanket folded up at the end of the bed; just in front of a shelf made from an old fruit box which was stuffed full of books. “You know what this reminds me of? Where I grew up.”

Wide eyed the little goblin shook her head in disbelief. Harry almost laughed at the way her ears shook with the motion of her head.

“No, serious, until I was eleven the only bedroom I had was in the broom cupboard under the stairs. It was better than this in some ways, I could stand up in it, well a bit of it and I didn’t have to share it with, what, four others?”

Lightsthefire shook her head, “No, there are only three of us orphans and foundlings here at the moment. Including me.”

Harry nodded, “And I know what it’s like to have people forget your birthday. Again, up till I was eleven, I never had a birthday party or a cake and I didn’t get any presents some years. And even when I did they weren’t proper presents. I remember one year my Aunt and Uncle gave me a sock; not a pair, just one old sock.” He smiled along with Lightsthefire’s giggling, “Yeah, that’s right it wasn’t even new. And one time, actually I can’t remember if it was for birthday or Christmas, they sent me a card and sticky taped to it was twenty pence. Yep that was all.” They laughed together, and Lightsthefire sat up next to him. He got a good look at her now – she was young, he could tell, much younger than any of the goblins he’d met before (the few kids he’d seen running around the markets didn’t count). He could see from her profile that her nose wasn’t nearly so pointy and her straight brunette hair fell down either side of her face causing her ears to look like they just sprouted out of a carpet of hair. She had a sad, almost haunted look about her. 

“I knew it was your birthday, not the exact date, but I knew it must have been recent because you get one of these,” he waved to Truearm and took the envelope from his hands, “when and only when you turn eleven.”

She took the envelope from him and read her name upon it, as well as her ‘address’. She looked at Harry quizzically and he said, “Go on, open it.”

She did, but even as she opened the envelope and read the letter the frown didn’t go away.

“I said up until eleven, because once I’d turned eleven I got one of those letters and I went to a wonderful place. I found out I was a wizard and learnt magic there, but even better I found friends and a true home and if you want, you can go there too.”

“But I can’t, I’m a goblin.” She protested.

“Well, I’m sure your uncle will explain it fully sometime, but it’s been fixed that for this year at least and hopefully the next and ever after, that if you can learn magic you get to go to Hogwarts; doesn’t matter if you’re a goblin or a human, if you can do magic you get to go.”

She looked up at her Uncle and he nodded his head in confirmation. Stampofiron had her hands clasped to her mouth and tears running down her cheeks, but she was nodding too.

“It won’t be all fun though,” Harry said, “There’s a lot of hard work and effort you have to put in. And not everyone’s going to like you; some people hated me at the school and actively tried to make my life a misery. Sorry to say, but It’ll probably happen to you too. You can’t stop bigots and idiots from being intolerant and stupid. So it’ll be hard but it’ll also be absolutely great. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. So what do you say, do you want to go? You’ll have at least one friend in me there.”

Lightsthefire looked at Harry, then back and forth between the two older goblins in the doorway. Her face was hard to read it was such a conflicting mix of emotions. She looked back down at the letter and read the first page again and then the second. She said, “But this stuff, I can’t afford any of this stuff.”

Harry laughed, “That’s exactly what I said.”

Lightsthefire looked at him in disbelief.

“True. Do you think that an Aunt and Uncle that gave me an old sock for a birthday present would have bought me all that? No way. I found out later, that I had gold of my own and I could afford it, but even if I couldn’t, there’s a special fund for those who have no money. Orphans like yourself. “But,” and he indicated the older goblins, “do you really think they’d let you not go just because of a few books and bits?”

She looked down at the letter in her hands again, she couldn’t meet the gaze of her uncle. She nodded, just barely, but she nodded.

She looked around to Harry, sitting there next to her on the bed and nodded again. “All right, I’ll do it; I’ll go.”

Harry grinned and gave her a one-armed hug, “Oh I forgot, I’m a member of your tribe now, so I’m not just a friend, I’m family.”

The moment was broken eventually by Stampofiron who clapped her hands together loudly. When Harry looked at her all trace of the tears were gone and she was back to her prim and proper self. “Right we can’t be sitting around here all day. I’ve got loads to do and so have you, for starters you are going to need new clothes; I hope the tribe’s coffers will be opened for this?”

“Stampofiron, the whole Clan’s resources are at the disposal of this enterprise.” He responded.

Stampofiron looked impressed for a second, but just for a second and then she was all business again, “Good, so it should be. Now you’ll need some helpers, are you friends with any of the girls here?”

Lightsthefire looked shamefaced and hung her head.

“Lightsthefire?” Stampofiron said interrogatingly.

With her head still bowed she said, “The other girls have been mostly really nice to me Cook, but I’ve been really horrible back.”

“OK,” Stampofiron said soothingly, “It’s OK, who do you like out of them the most.”

“I guess there are two,” she said indicating the bunks above and below her, “Tendsthehearth and Singssosweetly. Singssosweetly is so funny and Tendsthehearth is … I just like her.”

“Alright then, they’ll be your attendants, let’s go and get you some new clothes.

Lightsthefire got up and Stampofiron put an arm around her shoulders and lead her from the room. Truearm looked to see if they were far enough ahead and saw them both chatting amicably, so they wouldn’t overhear what he was going to say to Harry.

“Thanks for that.”

“That’s OK, I just knew. I saw her there and it just reminded me so much of how I was when I got my letter.”

“No not that,” Truearm corrected him, “I mean I’m grateful of course, but I really meant to thank you for giving her the choice. I’d forgotten it was up to her. I’d gotten so carried away with what this meant for all goblinkind that I didn’t stop to think that it was all on the head and shoulders of one little goblin girl. If she didn’t want any part of it she should have been allowed to walk away. I think you know that being forced to do something and doing it because you want to, will make all the difference in the end.” As they talked, they walked back to the kitchen and entered it to see the whole kitchen applauding Lightsthefire; who looked a bit shy but nonetheless stood up proudly.

Stampofiron was saying loudly, “Kitchen Four East was already the best kitchen in Greater London and I’ll wager the whole of southern England.” She was greeted with loud cheering, “And if anyone questions you about it you can stick it right up them and say didn’t we also have the first goblin wizard come from our number? And what’s more girls, the first goblin wizard is a witch. So let’s stick that up the arses of the male-chauvinist Heads of the Clans.” Even more cheering.

Noticing Truearm there she added, “No offense to you Smith.”

“I’m not sure what you are talking about,” he replied loudly enough to carry, “I didn’t hear anything about some old-fashioned, old goblins getting a much needed kick up their collective fundament.”

There were laughs and cheers from the kitchen girls. Harry took notice then of how young Truearm actually was for someone in his position and wondered just how long he’d had the job. Harry wondered if the young Truearm had butted heads up against the old male patriarchy himself.

Singssosweetly burst back into the room. Stampofiron looked at her critically, “Back so soon, you didn’t miss any?”

She panted, “No Cook, I didn’t. The rumours had already got to some Cooks and I met their runners on my way there. So I sent ‘em back to their kitchens with the message so’s I could get back here sooner.”

“Good thinking.”

“Is it true Cook, is it Lightsthefire?”

“Yes, and while I’ve got you here, where’s Tendsthehearth?” 

A mousy, little goblin wormed her way past a couple of older girls. She had longish brunette hair that was tied up at the back, but fell past the sides of her face in bangs and, from the disapproving look on Stampofiron’s face, was only just short enough so that she couldn’t be taken to task for having her hair too long.

“Yes, ‘M, here I am Cook.”

“Good, Lightsthefire has selected you both, as her best friends, to be her handmaidens.” The little one looked up in surprise but Singssosweetly pumped her fist and said, “Hell Yeah!”

“Singssosweetly run ahead and get…”she sighed “who’s a good dressmaker?”

An older goblin near said, “Hambone?”

“Ugh,” Stampofiron breathed out, “there’s really no one else is there? I suppose he’ll have to do. Run ahead of us and tell him to drop what he’s doing – Clan business and Clan money too, that’ll stop him from complaining– he has to provide us with a few dresses and,” she looked over at Lightsthefire, “probably a whole wardrobe, too.”

“Tendsthehearth, go and pack up your stuff and hers and hers,” indicating Lightsthefire and the retreating back of Singsosweetly, “bring it all out here. There will be extra guards won’t there Smith? Good; they’ll help you load it on a cart – until she leaves for school, Lightsthefire and her attendants will be moving up to stay in the Head-of-Clan tunnels.”

Truearm had been standing there with a bemused expression on his face as this matronly powerhouse took control and ordered everyone around. He grimaced ruefully, “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” He admitted.

“Course you didn’t”

“And that’s why she needs attendants – chaperones.” Truearm said in realisation.

Stampofiron just sighed in response.

“Indigonightsdawn.”

The goblin who had supplied the name of the tailor stepped forward, “Yes Cook?”

”You’re in charge till I get back. I trust and respect the Smith and all he stands for, but I have to go with this ‘male’ so that he doesn’t fuck up the preparations that are necessary for the female of the species.”

“Yes Cook,” said Indigonightsdawn with a wide grin on her face. The other older goblin women around her were also grinning at Harry and Truearm. Harry had seen the expression on the faces of girls before – like they were all in on a joke and Harry always feared that somehow men in general were the butt of that joke.

“I’ll be back for the meeting with the other cooks in about three quarters of an hour – entertain them if they arrive early please. OK, let’s go you lot.” And she led them through the kitchen. As they passed all the other staff, Lightsthefire was congratulated and hugged and patted by all the rest of the girls.

They got outside the kitchen to find Hanarg waiting for them with another guard. He’d changed and both he and the other guard now wore armour of a sort, but it was more modern than Harry would have thought. There was metal in it but it wasn’t shiny steel like ‘knights of yore’, instead it was black. There was a blackened metal breast-plate and greaves for the forearms and legs. They both had swords: Hanarg had two in scabbards on his back, so that their handles stuck up above each shoulder; the other goblin had only one in a scabbard tucked into his belt so that it stuck out behind him, Samurai style. They both had the same sort of black machine guns and these were what they were holding, ready to use.

“Oh Sharpedge,” exclaimed Stampofiron surprised by his presence but she turned to Truearm and said, “Good! I’m glad you are actually taking this seriously.”

“Hello cousin,” he said back in the deepest voice that Harry had heard on a goblin yet.

He looked … dangerous was all Harry could think, even without all his accoutrements. He looked the sort that if he stripped off all his armour and gave all his weaponry to his opponent, he would still have the edge in any hand-to-hand fight.

He bowed to Truearm, “Smith.” He straightened and regarded Lightsthefire, “Is this her, is she the one? She was so much younger when I saw her last.”

When it was confirmed for him he immediately drew out his sword and got down on one knee. Holding the sword out to her with both hands he said, “Lightsthefire, by the strength of my arm and the keenness of my blade, I pledge myself to your service and your life.” He bowed his head, still holding out the sword for her to take.

Lightsthefire looked nonplussed, but Truearm, whose face had gone all serious, motioned for her to take the blade. She did so and looked again to Truearm for a prompt and he mimed talking.

“Um, thank you for this honour. I except your service and um…” she faltered because as soon as she said ‘I except’ Sharpedge raised his head to look up at her. She drew inspiration from somewhere, “I know that while your heart still beats so shall mine.” He nodded at her and behind his back Truearm mimed giving the sword back. Sharpedge took it, sheathed the blade then went and stood behind Lightsthefire and slightly to her right.

“Well that was …” said Stampofiron and for once she was lost for words.

Truearm looked taken aback too, but impressed all the same. He surveyed the party gathered before him: the matronly cook; the two young handmaidens; the young guard and the old experienced one; and lastly, but not least, his niece – the witch to be. Looking small and insignificant amongst the others, you could tell she was starting to feel the enormity of what was going to happen to her and what it would mean, but she held herself up and looked back at her Uncle with some steel in her gaze.

“It appears, Harry, that I have far more to do than I otherwise thought. Would you mind if I didn’t show you out?”

“No, of course not; I don’t mind, but…”

“Don’t worry, Hanarg will escort you back to your friend Bill.” He turned to Hanarg, “Sort it out will you when you get there. Dump, I mean allow Smith Potter to relax in the Council room while you go to locate Bill Weasley.”

“Yes Smith Sir.”

“Well what a day,” Truearm looked at his watch, “and not even nine O’clock. Far out, what a day. Thank you for all you’ve done Harry, thank you so much. Now don’t forget tomorrow night; I want to meet the other members of your triumvirate and I definitely want to meet your obviously astounding girlfriend. OK?” he waved as Harry nodded back to him with an understanding look and left with Hanarg.

* * *

**So we finally meet the goblin witch to be in a (for me) very large chapter; what did you think of her? Or was she overshadowed by the large presence of Stampofiron? If you have any thoughts I would love to hear them.**

**The idea that goblin made items must have a portion of a goblin’s soul in them was the original idea which set me down the path of this whole fan-fiction. It is just obvious to me and part of my own ‘head cannon’ – an inanimate object cannot work out what would be good for it and what wouldn’t unless it has some brains at least. And this is why goblins are so precious about Goblin Made stuff – if it has part of the soul of a goblin in it they would want it back or at least to know that it was being looked after properly. And also, everything made by goblins cannot be Goblin Made - for instance the Galleons which JKR says herself that the goblins make for wizards.**

**The stuff about the thermocline is actually a mistake from the JKR books – serious, she got it wrong not being a spelunker. So here is a bit of a ret-con to make it all OK. Ha! My pleasure JK. ;)**


	6. Chapter 5 : Back to the Burrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry heads back to the burrow, having accomplished all he set out to do.

**Note: If I was writing about Barry and Lightsthefire, talking to journalists then Barry going to the Barrow to see his girlfriend Jenny, well then it would all be mine I tells ya, all mine BWHA HA HA !**

**... wait a sec Lightsthefire is mine, all mine BWHA HA HA !!**

**... but, as to the rest, as you will no-doubt actually recognise their names, all I am doing is playing in the sandbox of a very rich woman and she allows this because of her tolerance and generosity of spirit.**

* * *

**Chapter 5 Back to the Burrow**

Harry travelled back up to Gringotts proper with Hanarg in a cart. On their way up the tracks that ran around the wall of Great Cavern East, they were stopped by the same goblin on a broom.

 _ **“Is it true,”**_ he asked of the guard, _**“that goblins are going to get wands now?”**_

A string of words had come out of the flying goblin’s mouth and Harry could recognise it as Gobbledgook, but that didn’t mean he understood a word of it. It made Harry think for a second, most of the conversation, so far, had all been in English; he wondered why. Luckily Hanarg replied in English. “Yeah that’s right, but not all of us. Only a few will ever be able to do magic, true wand magic.”

The goblin on the broom gave Hanarg a disgusted look and more of the strange language spilled from his mouth. _**“Why do you speak of such important matters in front of an outsider in a language he can understand?”**_

Hanarg grinned, “Harry Potter, or should I say Smith Potter, please allow me to introduce a clan brother to you, Rangat of the Deep Delvers.”

Rangat’s mouth dropped open and he bowed (as much as a goblin floating on a broom could bow), “Sorry Smith, sir. I meant no disrespect.”

“None taken,” said Harry with a smile. “Rangat, it’s just that Smith Truearm wanted the correct information to spread. I’m sure as an officer of the law yourself,” taking an educated guess from the goblin’s attire, “you know the importance of containing wild rumour.”

Rangat inclined his head, “Yes Smith, sir.”

“She’s down there now and she’s from our Clan,” Hanarg said proudly. “Lightsthefire is her name.” 

Rangat cast a worried expression toward the floor of the cavern far below, “She’ll need protecting,” he mused.

Hanarg laughed. “Don’t worry, Sharpedge is with her.”

Rangat gave a low whistle in appreciation. “Well she don’t need me then.”

“And he’s gone and pledged himself to her hasn’t he.” Hanarg added.

“What, like in the olden days?” Rangat swung his attention back to Hanarg in surprise.

“Yep, down on one knee, gave her his sword, she accepted and gave it back – just like the olden days. So she really don’t need your protection, now does she? ”

“Nope, she definitely don’t,” he was nodding at Hanarg, but then a wry expression crossed his face and he looked downwards once again, “but if she’s down in the Markets now she’s sure to draw a crowd and if it’s one thing I know, crowds need protecting against themselves. Better go.”

“At your service, Smith Potter,” saluting as he flew away.  
Hanarg leaned over the edge of the cart and shouted, “See you tomorrow night. The Clan Heads are meeting here and we’ll no doubt be on duty then.”

Harry wasn’t sure the receding figure heard.

 

\--o-O-o--

 

Harry was ‘dumped’ back in the council room by Hanag and left alone. He didn’t have long to wait however till Bill burst through the door.

“Harry, what they’re saying, is it true?”

Harry smiled at how similar Bill’s words were to the goblin policeman’s (or police equivalent).

“You’re giving goblins wands Harry,” Bill asked again, “Is it true?” as he came up to Harry and held him by the upper arms.

“Yes Bill, yes,” he said simply. “But it’s not all of them. For now it’s only one, and she has to get through Hogwarts first before she can truly be called a wizard.” Repeating the information yet again, he felt that this would not be the last time he said it either.

Bill released Harry and stepped back at a loss for words, slowly shaking his head from side to side.

Slimshanks had entered the room not long behind Bill, long enough to hear most of what was said. He was taking in how Bill was reacting and Harry thought, from Slimshanks furrowed eyebrows, that he thought Bill wasn’t taking it well.

Bill caught sight of Slimshanks out to the corner of his eye and rushed over to him. Slimshanks had a moment of panic but his fears were alleviated by the smile spreading across Bill’s face. Shaking Slimshank’s hand vigorously, Bill said, “Slimshanks, congratulations. What wonderful news.”

“For a moment there Bill …” Slimshanks said but Bill didn’t hear him as he was shaking his head from side to side again in wonderment.

“It’s so… it’s … it’s amazing. It just shames me I never thought of how to do it for you myself.”

“Don’t worry yourself Bill, it is done now. The first ever Goblin wizard (to be) has by now received her acceptance letter and will be going to Hogwarts this year. What’s more Bill, she is of my Clan.” The small goblin, who Bill had to stoop over to even shake his hand, puffed out his chest with pride and now seemed ten feet tall.

Bill pumped his hand and congratulated him yet again.

“Actually Bill, I’ve got a favour to ask. What are you going to do with the rest of your day, now that you find yourself unexpectedly free?”

“Probably go home, take Harry with me.” He thought for a moment, “Actually, I’ll almost certainly get Fleur and go over to my mother’s and tell the family.” He looked to Harry for confirmation and Harry shrugged back his acceptance. “Why?”

“If you wouldn’t mind delaying your departure for a while, I’m about to send for a team from the Prophet. I dare say we will make the front page tomorrow. Would you mind staying a while and having a brief word with a journalist?”

“Oh, sure thing,” Bill replied. “You don’t mind do you Harry?”

But it wasn’t Harry who answered. Slimshanks said, “Mr Potter has no choice in the matter. It is part of the conditions under which he must repay his debt to us.”

Harry had to smile at the sardonic glint in Slimshanks eyes. From all he’d seen of the goblin politian, Harry realised he was shrewd and canny. Harry almost felt sorry for the wizards who would have to negotiate with the goblin in the future. If they underestimated him, thought he was a rube to be tumbled, they were going to be in for a nasty surprise.

Harry started to think about what he was going to say to the press when he suddenly had a thought.

“Um, Slimshanks, I’m doing this favour for you. Would you mind doing one for me?”

Slimshanks frowned; he was always looking for the way that a wizard would cheat him, Harry suddenly realised. It is what his outburst from before had been about. How bad must the relationship be between goblins and wizards, if that’s the first thing he looked for?

Harry laughed, “It’s nothing bad, just, would you mind if I selected the journalist?”

Slimshanks acquiesced with rueful grin and a shrug. Pen and paper and a goblin runner were acquired as Harry explained that a friend of his and a journalist in the making, Alicia Spinnet, was staying at the Leaky Cauldron. She’d been doing so to cover some of the Death eater trials, particularly that of Draco Malfoy’s. Harry penned her a quick note, and it was on its way.

"Alicia’s only had a few articles so far, but I think she’s gonna be great. She covered Draco’s trial, but only got an article on page seven. It was Rita Skeeter that had her stuff all over the front page, and, you know what, I'd prefer not to give her any more work, ever."

Slimshanks arranged the room for the upcoming interviews, ordering around a few goblin workers and Bill and Harry on occasion. It was soon ready, and a slightly out of breath Alicia arrived not long after.

“Hi Harry, what’s going on? Why’s the bank closed? What are you doing here?”

Harry laughed. "Questions, questions, the making of a true journalist. Did you bring your camera?”

“Yeah,” she said getting it out of her bag. “Like the note said: ‘Alicia, drop what you’re doing, come to…’ Gringotts has two t’s by the way… ‘it’s worth your while and bring your camera’. So here I am. What’s going on?” 

They sat down, she pulled out a notebook, and between both Harry and Slimshanks they filled her in.

“Wow. That’s fantastic and you’re giving me the story, Harry? No one else is going to come? Oh this is going to make me, thanks so much.”

Slimshanks looked bemused. “And this is all your reaction, just happiness that you got the ‘scoop’ as they say? How do you feel about the fact that goblins, the ancient foes of wizards will be getting wands?”

“Truthfully?” She shrugged. “I don’t care one way or the other; I can’t say I ever thought about it before now. I’m a Halfblood and before I went to school we lived more in the Muggle world than in the wizarding one. Then I went to school for seven years and I’ve only been out of Hogwarts for a year, so I haven’t really had very much to do with goblins at all. About the only thing I learnt about goblins was in History of Magic lessons and you know how bad they were Harry.” At Slimshanks reaction she hastily added, “Not anything about the goblins, I mean the lessons, how bad they were; I hardly remember anything. There were wars, there were uprisings … oh and they all had names like Sublime the Smelly and stuff like that.

“So goblins getting wands, and if what you say is right, it’s only one a year … meh.” She shrugged her shoulders again.

Slimshanks pursed his lips thoughtfully and nodded in response.

Alicia interviewed them all: Harry, Bill, Slimshanks, and Griphook (when he returned with Writesthesky in tow). They all told the same story, and about the only thing Harry added was when Alicia asked, “Aren’t you concerned about what will happen when goblins are ‘armed’ with wands?”

Harry had said, “You know, I’ve never met a goblin yet who was out to kill me; all they’ve ever done to me is give me my own money whenever I’ve asked for it back. But wizards, human wizards, I’ve met plenty of them who have actively wanted to kill me and have tried to do so.”

They had to wait around for a bit until Lightsthefire arrived so they could have photos taken with her. 

Harry and Bill were about to take the opportunity to leave when Harry overheard something that caught his attention.

Slimshanks was saying, “No. ‘Harry Potter Gives Goblins Wands’ is not the right emphasis. I don’t think the headline should mention wands at all; I think the headline should be – ‘Goblin Girl To Go To Hogwarts.’ Yes, truthful, but not threatening.” He noticed Harry looking at him askance, “What, Mr Potter?”

“I don’t know much about newspapers, but I don’t think you get to tell them what headline to use.”

“You see Harry, once Miss Spinnet here finishes writing up her story,” he held up his hands, “with no interference from us, I will personally take her over to the offices of the Prophet myself. One, to make sure that the story does not get taken away from her and to confirm to the editor that the information is correct.”

Alicia said a happy, “Thanks.”

Slimshanks gave a small bow in her direction. “And two, to tell him that a major shareholder in the Daily Prophet, one that rarely asks for favours, would like a headline that is not too alarmist.”

There was little more to be said and so he and Bill said their goodbyes. Just before he left though, Harry noticed Lightsthefire standing on the sidelines looking out of her depth and, frankly, a little stunned. He had only known her for, oh it was only a couple of hours ago he suddenly realised, but he felt a real connection with her. So he went over and gave her a hug, told her it’d be OK and that he’d see her tomorrow

Unbeknownst to him, Alicia had taken a photo of it. Far from the front page, gracing page five alongside the interview of Lightsthefire, it still became one of the most famous photos of the time. The wizarding photo moved, of course: Harry starting the hug, but the little goblin girl then gripping onto him forcefully looking both scared and thankful, you could clearly see her eyes squeezed shut; Harry pulling away, smiling reassuringly; saying something to her upturned face and then mussing up her hair.

 

\--o-O-o--

 

Harry had been filling Bill in on most of the details of what went on (excepting all the stuff about the goblin Smiths and Goblin Made items) as they travelled back to Shell Cottage. They were walking from the apparition point on the beach up to the house as Harry was saying, “… made me a Friend to Goblins. I had no idea what he was talking about so he had to explain how it was different to Goblin Friend, like what you are. Oh actually no - what you are soon going to be. That’s right, because you aren’t yet but you should be.” 

Harry realised that he was talking to empty air. He looked back to see that Bill had stopped and was standing on the path some way behind him with his mouth hanging open.

“What did you say Harry?” Bill almost whispered out.

Harry repeated himself.

“Oh.” Bill looked upwards. “Oh, you don’t know what this means to me.” He shook his head like he did back at the bank. “This will mean everything in my job. This is fantastic.” He finally realised he could smile and he did so, the grin lighting up his features despite the heavy scarring. “I have to tell Fleur.”

He charged past Harry and burst into the house with a loud, “Fleur! Fleur! Guess what?”

Harry entered the house to screams of joy from Fleur and much hugging and congratulations all round. He suddenly remembered that Fleur had worked for Gringotts. She would have firsthand knowledge of goblin society and what this meant and how good it would be for Bill.

She untangled herself from Bill eventually and went to Harry. She gave him a kiss on each cheek saying, “You gave one of zem a wand? How noble ma Cherie.” She kissed him again and let him go. “We should be at ze house of our parents; zey deserve to know.”

“Just what I thought dear. We’ll get some things together because we’ll probably be staying for dinner.”

 

\--o-O-o--

 

It took longer than a few moments to get everything together before Fleur was ready to leave. Harry took time to pack up all his stuff because he realised he may as well stay at the Burrow tonight because that’s where all the others were who had to go to the do with him.

They arrived at the Burrow before midday. Harry had all his stuff in his backpack thanks to one of Hermione’s extension charms.

“Knock, knock, anyone home,” said Bill, opening up the back door. “Hey Mum, you home?”

A ‘coming’ drifted to them from somewhere in the house. There was a banging and footfalls and then suddenly Mrs. Weasley was before them in the kitchen.

“Hello Bill, and Fleur dear.” She took in the foodstuffs on the table and a grin lit up her face. “You’re staying for dinner then?” She came over and gave them both a hug. All the past animosity that Mrs. Weasley had felt towards Fleur was long gone. She just couldn’t maintain it in the face of the obvious love that the two of them had for each other and especially considering the harrowing events of the past year that ended with the untimely deaths of one of her sons. It was whilst she was hugging Fleur that she noticed Harry behind them.

“Harry dear, you’re here too, and it’s not even,” she looked at a clock on the wall (the one that told the time, not the other one) and frowned. “Bill what are you doing here, it’s not even Midday, shouldn’t you be at work?”

Bill laughed. “The Bank shut down today.” He couldn’t keep the news to himself any longer, “Mum, Harry has done something amazing. He’s organised it so that the first ever goblin will be allowed to go to Hogwarts to study magic and get a wand.”

Mrs. Weasley froze in shock. The first thing she blurted out was, “Oh, we’ll all be murdered in our beds.”

Bill’s face fell and he turned serious, “I’m going to take that as your first knee-jerk reaction Mum, and that you don’t really mean it because I’m sure you’re not as bigoted as that makes you sound. Sure, _some_ wizards will lose sleep over _some_ goblins being able to use wands, but there’s many of us who will sleep far more soundly knowing that wizards, no,” he corrected himself, “no, humankind has finally –finally! – allowed goblins, some goblins to use wands. You don’t know how much anger and bitterness and resentment it’s caused in the goblin community for years. Centuries, probably.

“And Mum, it’s not going to be every goblin, only a few; about one a year according to Harry. There’s only one; a small, little goblin girl who now has all the weight of the world on her shoulders. All these people wanting her to fail, all those wanting her to succeed, and Hogwarts itself – you know yourself the pressures of learning magic: studying for OWLS and NEWTS and all that. That’s going to be her life for the next seven years, the only goblin in the whole school. Hopefully there will be another one next year, but there may not be. And there might be even more pressure on her once she leaves the school the first ever qualified goblin witch.”

“Oh that poor little girl,” said Mrs Weasley softly. “Alright Bill, alright I get it, I won’t …” She looked embarrassed, but she caught sight of them all still in the doorway and blustered on. “Oh, what am I doing? Come in, come in; don’t just stand there. Anyone for tea?” Then she busied herself in the kitchen, putting the kettle on and pretending she hadn’t just been scolded by her eldest.

Harry helped Fleur put her stuff on the table and as he did so his backpack slipped down off his shoulder. The movement of him catching it caught Mrs. Weasley’s attention. “Harry, are you here to stay?”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley. If that’s OK.”

“That’s wonderful dear, but you’ll have to stay in with Ron, as Charlie’s still here.”

“That’s OK. It’s where I usually am.”

“Oh what goodies have you brought with you this time?” said Mrs. Weasley noticing the bags they just placed upon the table, “Is that your homemade bread I see? It’s so good you just have to tell me your secret.”

“Ah, but zen why would you need me?” said Fleur with a smile. “I thought since we are descending upon you for dinner, I may as well provide ze lunch. I ‘ave also some cold meats and some delicious cheeses.”

“None of that stinky stuff like last time; it took ages to get the smell out of the fridge.”

“No, no,” Fleur protested holding her hands up, then she pointed at Bill. “Do not blame me for zat atrocious la fromage. Look to your accursed son. I swear since zat monster scratched him, his tastes, bah!” She threw up her hands again, this time in disgust.

Harry left them to it and ran upstairs to dump his bag on the spare bed in Ron’s room. There was no one else around so he didn’t tarry long. He came back to the kitchen to find everyone seated at the table with a cup in front of them.

“Here you go Harry dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, sliding a cup of tea towards where he seated himself.

He took a sip, “Where is everyone?” 

“Oh that’s right,” laughed Mrs. Weasley, “I forgot; they’re all out. Charlie’s gone to London to get some vital supplies before heading back to Romania. Knowing that boy, it’ll include twenty jars of Marmite. The others have gone down the hill into town. Hermione wanted to see the shops and dragged Ron along. Ginny was bored, she said, so she tagged along as well.”

“All the others are still at work of course.”

“Mum,” Bill asked gently. “Where’s George?”

She sighed deeply, “I think he’s at their shop, I mean,” she closed her eyes in pain, “I mean his shop.” She couldn’t speak for a bit, sitting there with her eyes closed. Fleur reached out a hand and gripped one of hers lying upon the table. She gave it a squeeze back and in a couple of seconds, she opened her eyes again and gave Fleur a tight lipped smile of thanks that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Bill felt it now safe to say, “But Mum, he hasn’t reopened the shop yet. What’s he doing?”

She sighed again, “I know Bill, but what can I do? I invite him every night for dinner, but I don’t know when or if he’ll turn up. I’ll send him a note about tonight though. He might come because you lot are here. It’s probably the last family dinner before Charlie has to go back.”

“Um, Mrs. Weasley, do you mind …” Harry began.

She laughed. “Go on Harry. I’ll see you back here for dinner. Tell them when you find them it will be about half seven. No, tell them half six. That way I’ll get some help setting up.”

Harry laughed too as he got up to go, “Sure thing Mrs. Weasley, I’ll let them know.”

 

\--o-O-o--

 

Harry left the house and wandered down the lane that led to the village.

It had turned into a beautiful day: the sun was shining; there was hardly a cloud in the sky and there was a gentle breeze to keep one cool. He was just passing by a stand of trees that bordered and overhung the lane when he saw one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. It was like a sunrise. 

Over the crest of the path, where it raised slightly before dipping down to the town below, slowly appeared a head and then the shoulders of the girl he loved.

She didn’t see him at first as he was hidden within the shadow the trees cast across the road. So he stood there, free to watch her as she walked along. She looked out of sorts, kicking the occasional stone and slouching along. There was no one with her and Harry could imagine the source of her dissatisfaction – Ron and Hermione were probably being too lovey-dovey for her and she ditched them or more likely (now that Harry thought about it) Ron had told her to ‘shove off’.

Then something, he didn’t know what – maybe he moved slightly or the shadows the trees cast had moved in the breeze – whatever it was, Ginny looked up and straight at him. Harry was wrong, this was the most beautiful sight in the world; the grin that lit up his girlfriend’s face.

It was like the sun coming out on a cloudy day.

“HARRY!” she shouted and ran towards him.

He smiled back at her and started moving too. They met with a clash which resulted in an ouch, some laughter and an open-armed hug as they sorted themselves out. Finally, after looking into each other’s eyes for what seemed an age and one of them brushing a stray strand of hair out of the others face – they shared a deep and lasting kiss.

Ginny was the first to break it. She held Harry at arm’s length and with raised eyebrows asked him, “How long are you staying this time? You don’t have anything else you have to go and do again do you? See McGonagall or the Minister or whatever it was you were doing today with Bill?”

Harry smiled into the face of her annoyance, “No, nothing like that.”

“OK then, so how long are you going to stay with me this time?” she asked with a certain amount of testiness.

Harry looked at her, the dappled sunlight playing across her features and the backlit greenery setting off her flowing red hair – he didn’t have to search long for the truth.

“Forever.”

With all the subsequent kissing, Harry didn’t need Ron’s ‘How to Charm Witches’ book to know that he’d chosen the correct answer.

Harry didn’t bother trying to find his other friends that afternoon and in the end they all arrived back too late to give Mrs. Weasley much help in the kitchen.

 

\--o-O-o--

 

They were scolded soundly by Mrs. Weasley when they reappeared back at the Burrow, but it was only when she finished with, “Harry why didn’t you come back earlier?” that she realised she’d made a tactical error. Bill and Charlie who were sitting nearby started laughing uproariously, and Bill said, “Probably found something better to do Mum.”

It made her blush and Harry too, but all Ginny did was sort of preen which made the two brothers laugh even harder. 

Mrs. Weasley chose to ignore the boys’ laughter and the obvious implications for Harry and Ginny’s lateness – knowing as she did that their transgressions were probably quite light. She over-rode the laughter, waving a piece of parchment at him, “This Harry, why didn’t you tell me about this, and come back sooner so that we could have done something about it today.” Harry couldn’t really see what it was and his confusion was obvious to Mrs. Weasley because she added, “The invitation. Bill tells me you have one too, for you two and one for Ron and Hermione too.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” said Harry sheepishly. He explained to Ginny, after she’d hit him in the arm, that they’d been invited to a goblin function tomorrow night.

“Didn’t you read it, Harry?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“I honestly haven’t had the time Mrs. Weasley,” Harry replied.

“I bet,” said Charlie this time, and he and Bill rolled about laughing again.

Mrs. Weasley chose to ignore them, “Harry, it’s formal. You have to wear dress robes to it. I wish I’d have known earlier because you’ve all grown so much in the last year and I know the last occasion any of you had to wear dress robes was more than a year ago. Tomorrow morning, first thing, you all will have to try them on and I’ll see if they can be let out or whether we have to go into Diagon Alley to buy new ones.”

Ron and Hermione had joined them, just in time to hear the last. Harry turned to look at Ron as he groaned, but the two girls looked excitedly at each other and Hermione took the opportunity to poke her boyfriend on the behalf of all girlfriends everywhere.

 

\--o-O-o--

 

Because all of the family was present and also because the weather was so pleasant – dinner was to be outside on the long table set up for the occasion.

George had arrived, much to Mrs Weasley’s delight, and she was fussing over him. To anyone outside the family, it would have appeared that he was putting up with it, but Harry knew it wasn’t that. His expression looked like he didn’t care about anything. Only one time did his expression perk up slightly, and that’s when his mum told him they were going to have one of his favourites – apricot chicken. Harry had had it before, and it was delicious; whole chicken thighs in a rich sweet sauce usually served with rice. George’s eyes perked up when he heard, but they quickly fell back to the dull lustre they had before. Harry thought he may have been the only one to see it except for Mrs. Weasley. She didn’t say anything about it but took it to be happiness at getting a meal he loved. Harry wasn’t so sure, he looked devilish for a moment, not just happy. Harry had seen a similar expression on his face before when he was about to pull a prank. But it was over and gone within a second, and Harry thought no more about it.

George took himself out into the garden and plonked himself down at one of the ends of the table. Everyone else was helping out to some degree and it was on one of the passes out into the garden that Harry caught Bill alone. There was something he’d been wondering, so he asked Bill why he never did the protective-older-brother thing that some of the others had. He answered, “Harry, Charlie and I are older and far wiser, we don’t have to resort to threats – we trust you and her and we know, that you know, that if you hurt our baby sister, I’ll lock you into a vault you’ll never get out of, or Charlie will feed you to a dragon; whichever one of us gets to you first.” He patted the now stunned Harry on the back in a brotherly manner and went back inside. 

Harry had originally come outside bearing a huge dish of mashed potatoes and, as he was just standing there in the wake of Bill’s pronouncement, he saw George trying to get his attention. The table was nearly ready anyway so he took this opportunity to get out of the way and sit down, “Hi George, what’s up?”

“Harry, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve had lots of trouble trying to track you down. There’s something that we’ve been meaning,” he paused, “I mean there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, but you basically fell off the face of the planet for a while. I know you’ll say Voldemort and blah blah, but Fred and me always thought it was the biggest case of skiving off school Hogwarts has ever seen. So anyway, could you come into the shop next week to talk about it?”

“Sure George, any time. I’ve got nothing planned for the next few weeks ‘till I go back to school.”

“Good,” said George. “Anytime. I’m planning on re-opening the shop on Sunday so it could be a bit busy for the first couple of days, though; how about Wednesday or Thursday?”

The table had filled up and Mr. Weasley sat at the head of the table (on the opposite end to George). Before she seated herself next to her husband, Mrs. Weasley said, “Thank you all for coming because this will probably be our final family dinner before Charlie has to go back. So everybody tuck in, Fleur and I have made lots of people’s favourites. Make sure George gets some of his apricot chicken up at his end.”

They were all serving themselves and passing the dishes around when Percy asked, “So what’s this big news then?”

When he had arrived, he’d been talking about the strange day he’d had; how his head of department had disappeared and that the Bank had closed down so he couldn’t get any money out for the weekend. He was told to be patient and wait for everyone to be here to find out why.

Bill leaned forward to catch Harry’s eye to get his permission to tell them all. Harry waved for him to go right ahead. “Harry there has organised it with the ministry and Hogwarts to let a goblin go to school and learn magic.”

Everyone started talking at once, and both Harry and Bill filled in the details. Ron’s dad though added something neither of them knew. “That was where the head of your department was, Percy. Kingsley called us all in, all the heads of department and told us. Once the goblins had accepted, they sent Kingsley a letter and he read it out to us. I don’t remember it all, it was too long and filled with political-ese – you know the sort of stuff, ‘working together’, ‘overcoming our differences’ that sort of thing. But there was one important thing near the end; reading between the lines, or really ‘hearing’ between the lines because I didn’t…”

“Yeah, OK Dad.”

“OK then, but he said something close to – ‘ it is not in either of our interests to dredge up the past and to seek damages or reparations for not allowing goblins to attend Hogwarts before now’ - something like that and it was because they are doing it in good faith. But here’s where the elves season the stew, he said ‘hopefully it will be reciprocated in our future dealings’. How about that.”

“Ah,” said Percy knowingly. “So they will not press past grievances but expect concessions in the future. Hmm, very canny.” He nodded sagely, like he’d solved a great puzzle.

“Hey,” said a voice from beside Harry, “can we discuss this after diner. Goblins will still have wands then, but at least the food won’t be cold.”

“George is right,” his mother said. “Please tuck in everyone, we can talk about this later, Arthur.” Harry could see the relief on Mrs. Weasley’s face at how George was maybe beginning to come back to being his own self again.

“Fanks Mahm,” said George with his mouth stuffed full of chicken and shoving more in before he’d finished what was already there.

“George,” his mum said half-jokingly, half-serious, “don’t talk with your mouth full and don’t shove so much in at once. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, you’ll choke.”

George laughed, but as he in drew his breath to retort he made a funny ‘clomping’ sound. He raised his hands to his throat and stood up and started to choke. It was so obviously fake and over the top that most of the table started to laugh, especially in the light of how he had been recently behaving – this was a return to the George of the past. He made a loud, final gurgling noise and keeled over backwards behind his end of the table and out of sight of everyone.

This earned a small round of applause from some of the family. Fleur didn’t look particularly pleased and neither did Percy, but the laughter soon stopped because there came a noise from where George fell that froze the smiles on everyone’s lips.

It was eldritch, thought Harry, and he knew that was a strange description from someone who could use magic and was a personal friend of several ghosts. But it was; it was otherworldly and creepy and halfway between a moan and a distant scream.

Before anyone had a chance to do anything other than register their shock, George’s ethereal, transparent head, then shoulders, then torso rose from behind the end of the table. The darkened garden could clearly be seen behind him, it was no trick – George had become a ghost.

“Mother,” he intoned in a deep and slow voice as he raised his hand and pointed a ghostly finger at her, “you have cursed me to choke and now I am doomed to walk, I mean float,” he added quickly then went back to his slow way of speaking, “float the earth forever.”

Everyone was stunned, staring at George who was bobbing slightly at the end of the table.

Mrs. Weasley fell to pieces. She didn’t rush around to George’s fallen body she just collapsed in on herself. Sobbing and weeping. Her husband tried to console her, but she was wracked with grief.

Harry flicked his attention back to George. Something was nagging him for his attention. He looked up at the ghost of George. He didn’t have that vacant, otherworldly expression on his face any more. No, he was looking at his mother’s reaction in horror. But that wasn’t what drew his attention back to George, it was something else. Looking up at George’s profile Harry realised exactly what it was. If he hadn’t just been talking with George he might not have noticed it and he was sure nobody else had noticed either, because of the angle they were sitting at relative to how George had been standing (floating); Harry thought no one else had realised what he had.

A pair of hands suddenly appeared and gripped the end of the table pulling a nervous and guilty looking head into view. Sure enough, this head was missing an ear, whereas the one floating above him was not. George looked up and shared a worried look with the ghost of his departed brother Fred.

“Um, mum, it’s OK,” he said, too softly to be heard over his mother’s sobbing. He had to repeat himself louder, “Um Mum, Mum, it’s OK, I’m still alive. It was just,” he managed to say just as everyone turned to him, “a trick.”

His mother lifted her head and regarded him and the ghost of Fred with a blank expression, the tear tracks glistening in the half light.

“Ah, yeah. Fred’s back as a ghost.” There was still no response from their mother so Fred added a lacklustre “Ah, Hi?”

Mrs. Weasley went incandescent with rage.

Harry had seen her angry before but those times were as nothing compared to her now. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised to see the air around her burst into flames.

**“You two will be the death of me!”** she screamed as she came to her feet. She snatched the wand out of the front of the apron she still had on and pointed it at the two boys before they had a chance to react.

“INCANCARCEROUS!” she shouted.

The two boys were sucked into Mrs. Weasley’s wand - obviously it didn’t matter if you were a ghost or not as it worked equally on Fred as it did on the still corporeal George.

All Harry could think of was that it looked exactly like one of those old cartoons where Bugs Bunny or Daffy Duck or someone would grab a vacuum cleaner and suck up one of the other characters who would stretch and deform as they were drawn in and disappeared into the mouth of the vacuum.

Mrs. Weasley slammed her wand down on the table top and Harry could have sworn he heard a muffled, ‘ow.’ But it wasn’t on the table long before she snatched it up again and pointed it at the back of the house. The broom, propped up against the wall near the back door started sweeping the back porch furiously. She changed targets and swished her wand at the couple of pairs of boots beside the door; each boot started scraping itself against the foot-scraper. Pointing her wand now at the windows of the house she made a complicated gesture and a few rags flew up from Harry knew not where and started dusting off the shutters.

She slammed her wand down onto the table once again and stormed back into the house.

Everyone looked at each other; no one was able to speak. A scraping noise punctuated the silence – Mr. Weasley drew back his chair and stood. “I’m just going to check on your mother.”

The first one to break the silence was Ron. “What a prank.”

“Ron!” said Hermione sharply and hit him in the shoulder.

“Ow, Hermione! I didn’t say it was good.” He rubbed his shoulder, “I know you’ve accused me of having the emotional range of a teaspoon, but even I know they shouldn’t have done that to Mum.” Hermione looked slightly mollified at his words and even more so as he added, “We’ve all lost a brother and … and, it’s really bad, but she’s lost a son. So it must be like a hundred times worse for her. If he’d only clued her in beforehand or something he could have done it to us and then gone, I don’t know … ‘AND BY THE WAY, TADA – HERE’S FRED!’ We all would have laughed, I mean who else would think about using the ghost of their recently departed twin to play such a monumental prank?”

There was a general murmur of assent from around the table as everyone realised the extent of the prank. It was definitely up to the high standards the twins had already set – once it was something they all could laugh about, it would be one for the history books.

Charlie said, “But a ghost? I wouldn’t think he’d be the sort to become a ghost, he’d be the sort to move on, surely?”

“What we have here is probably a class four, full torso, free floating repeater.”

Everyone turned to see who had spoken. There framed in the back doorway was the figure of Mr. Weasley.

* * *

**  
So here we have the latest installment, and for this chapter and the next couple Harry's life moves on to the Burrow. he has been just itching to be with Ginny again.**

**I have to thank the wonderful pixileanin for stepping into the breach and becoming my new beta for this story. I have to bow down before her because she is a _Grammar Queen_. A lot of the correct formatting of dialogue in this chapter is down to her sterling efforts. **

**I hoped you liked it and what did you think of the prank? Up to the two brother's usual standards? Let me know what you think in that little box below. Remember that any review I receive I automatically consider a review swap and I go and find who has left me a review and review a chapter of theirs.**

**What was that spell that Mrs. Weasley used ... well you will just have to stay tuned for next time when all is revealed.**

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	7. Chapter 6 The dearly Departed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Weasley gets rid of a lot of his stress by having a big rant, but then tells his children a tale of family history.

**Note: If I was writing about Barry at the Barrow with his girlfriend Jenny, listening to Mr. Weasel, well then it would all be mine I tells ya, all mine BWHA HA HA !**

**... but, as to the rest, as you will no-doubt actually recognise their names, all I am doing is playing in the sandbox of a very rich woman and she allows this because of her tolerance and generosity of spirit.**

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* * *

**Chapter 6 The Dearly Departed**

 

Everyone at the table was looking at him. Mr. Weasley took their silence to mean that they hadn’t heard or understood him properly, so he repeated himself. “I’m sure it’s just a class four, full torso, free floating repeater. So he’s not so much a ghost, as it’s a haunting. That means it’s not permanent, he’s not stuck here forever as a ghost, he’ll fade out in a little while, maybe even pop back in from time to time.

“Actually,” he paused thinking, “that’s probably what’ll happen. You see, he was only drawn back because, well half because of the manner of his death, but mostly because he had so much energy – so much vitality. That energy, combined with the connection between him and his twin, has allowed him to cross back. It’s like a sort of anchor for him to the material world.”

“Charlie, you know how you said you thought he’d be the sort to ‘go on’? He probably can’t or won’t – yes, yes won’t is more likely – won’t go on without his twin. So he’ll just hang about close to the material plane and more than likely pop in and out depending on,” he shrugged his shoulders, “what’s happening, major events, and things like that.”

Everyone was still silent, either staring at Mr. Weasley in amazement or surreptitiously looking about at each other.

Mr. Weasley sighed in exasperation as he saw their expressions. “You know, it’s astounding to me what little respect that you children have for me sometimes." He put his hands on his hips and looked around at the family, most of whom had the grace to look shamefaced. “I’m not just some old duffer who’s obsessed with Muggle stuff. I am head of a department at the Ministry you know.

“And before you start to sneer, Percy Weasley, had it been any other department, with the amount of work I have to do, I’d have at least a handful of staff and a couple of junior supervisors. Just because it’s got Muggle in its name, the department has been automatically treated as second class by a Ministry that’s still blinded by blood status.

“Don’t you realise that most things – eighty to ninety percent – of what we use and have are Muggle in origin? Your shoes, for instance. Most of you, Charlie might be an exception, are wearing Muggle shoes because there are precisely two wizard shoe manufacturers in the world and one of them is in Tasmania. That goes for nearly everything else, from the bricks in this house to the cloth of your robes. Wizards may have put them together, but the materials were all Muggle in origin.

“So because so much stuff is Muggle then the misuse of Muggle artefacts extends all the way through every department. Why do you think I’m so well-known throughout the Ministry? Why do you think people are always owing me favours? Because I’m constantly going and putting out fires for all the other departments and solving weird and odd little problems for them. The amount of work I do - and consequently the knowledge I’m exposed to,” he looked pointedly at his children, “is astounding; I should have more than just one old wizard working for me that’s for sure.”

Mr. Weasley sighed and then slumped down in his seat. “Though I suppose it was good when Voldemort’s lot were in power. They didn’t realise how wide my influence was,” he raised his voice, “and yes, how much respect I had in the other departments. 

Harry felt a little shame-faced, and from the looks on some of the family members, he guessed they felt the same way too. Mr. Weasley's self-admitted obsession with Muggle stuff was an easy target to scoff at. Harry thought back to the times when he’d seen how other ministry Wizards had treated the man, and he suddenly realised that Mr. Weasley commanded a lot of respect from those who knew and worked with him. He had been a member of the Order after all.

“Oh, sorry kids for going on like that,’ he sighed, “it’s just … I lost a son too. A wonderful, fantastic son. Like you all are, you’ve each got your good and bad, but I’m immensely proud of all my sons. And yes, I’ve got a pretty impressive daughter too, up there at the end of the table. And I’m worried about your mother. She’s got a lot on her plate at the moment. What with the death of Fred and thinking George was … but obviously some of that was playacting if he knew about Fred-the-ghost … and, of course, her upcoming trial.”

There was an immediate uproar from the table demanding all at once that their father explain.

“She killed a witch, it’s as simple as that. There are ameliorating circumstances certainly – she was saving her daughter and her, ah Hermione.” Harry was sure Mr. Weasley was going to say something else and he was fairly sure he knew what.

Harry looked at Ron who was holding his girlfriend’s hand. He must have divined how his father was going to refer to Hermione too because it prompted him to say, “But Dad, she was trying to kill Ginny and Hermione; surely that counts for something?”

“Yes Ron it counts for a lot, so she’ll probably only get parole or a suspended sentence on good behaviour.”

‘Parole?’ someone said, indignantly. ‘Good behaviour?’ said another.

“Yes, so she doesn’t kill again.” He continued above more cries of protest. “It’s happened before - a strong witch or wizard kills and then gets a taste for killing. Seen one way, the Ministry is only doing what it should.”

Percy nodded but some of the others shot him dirty looks as Mr. Weasley continued.

“But it’s yet another worry on her shoulders. And I know all of the death and heartbreak and … and all of it has brought it all back, the events of years ago, when her two beloved brothers were killed; and this proves it.” 

He looked around at the magic his wife had started. “I think they’ve had enough. Would someone please put a stop to all this?” He held up Mrs. Weasley's wand. “I don’t have my wand on me and it would be cruel to use this wand anymore.”

Hermione chirped up with, “I will”, just as Bill stood up to do the same. He grinned down at her saying, “I’ll do all the windows, and you do the boots and the broom.”

As the magic chores came to a halt, Percy couldn’t help but ask, “What do you mean Dad, they’ve had enough? The wand, are they …” He pointed at the wand in his father’s hands.

“Yes, while they are trapped in here, the boys feel like they are doing every bit of the work themselves. That’s not exactly right, it’s more than that; ah, I don’t know how to say it properly … it’s like the energy that the magic uses is being drawn out of them. Yes I know," he said as Percy shook his head, "It’s unheard of and almost certainly dark magic. I know, I know.”

“No Dad, that’s not what I meant. How do you know what’s going on with them?”

But Mr. Weasley didn’t hear. He blinked his eyes and looked down, but it was obvious he wasn’t looking at the table – he was seeing something in the past. He was so absorbed in whatever was going on in his own head that his kids started to give each other worried glances. He looked up and suddenly said, “We’ve never told you about the death of your two uncles, have we?”

He snapped his attention back to his children, now having their undivided attention. “It’s probably about time. All of you are of age – or nearly so. I never said anything because it was really your mother’s story to tell, but maybe … maybe she hasn’t because the memory, even now, is still too painful.” Something occurred to him as he looked at his children sitting there regarding him, “Look at you all, you’ve all hardly touched anything – your mother and Fleur worked long and hard to make this all for you. If you all start eating, I promise to tell you the last story of Gideon and Fabian Prewitt. “

They all started to pick at their food, but no one was terribly hungry now, they all wanted to know something they’d never heard tell of before. Harry twisted the watch around on his wrist, it had been Fabian’s, and he thought back to the only thing he knew about the two brothers. Back then he hadn’t even known Mrs. Weasley was their younger sister. No, all he knew of them was when Mad-Eye Moody had shown him a picture of the members of the original Order of the Phoenix. On the way to showing Harry his parents, he had gone past the two brothers saying, ‘Gideon and Fabian Prewitt, they died like heroes.’

Harry must have said it aloud because Mr. Weasley said, “Yes Harry they did, what do you know of it?”

“Sorry Mr. Weasley, I didn’t mean to say it out loud. That’s just what Moody said once. He showed me a picture of the original Order – to show me my mum and dad - and he was going through all the people in it, and it was like ‘dead, dead, tortured, dead’. He - you all know what he was like - thought he was giving me a treat, but ...”

Everyone grinned, remembering what the irascible old Auror was like.

“Anyway, when he got to them, that’s all he said.”

“He's right, Harry. They died like heroes, and they died saving my life.” There were indrawn gasps from all around the table; the food lay largely forgotten on the table in front of them, waiting for Mr. Weasley to speak. He cleared his throat and began.

 

“When we were at school,” Mr. Weasley began, but then he paused and thought about it. “No, earlier than that. To tell this properly, I have to go back to Molly’s parents.”

He looked around at his kids, “I never met your maternal grandparents. They were both long gone before I met your mother at school. Apparently they were really quite powerful wizards, I mean witch and wizard, and they were researchers. They made up their own spells or tested out other new spells for the Ministry before they were approved for general use and other such things.

When Molly was a young girl they both died tragically. Well, that’s not quite right, Gideon told me from what bits of them were left, wherever the rest of them were they couldn’t have been too healthy.” There was at least one groan from someone at the table, and for a brief moment Mr. Weasley cheered up a bit and was like his normal cheerful self, “How’s everyone going, enjoying the chicken?” But he sobered up again, much too quickly afterwards, as he went on. “Gideon was always trying to find out what happened, all the time I knew him because it was really suspicious what happened after they died. You see, even though Magical Law Enforcement was originally called in to deal with the case, once the details were reported back to the Ministry all these Unspeakables from the department of Mysteries turned up. and burnt their workshop (the scene of their ‘deaths’) down to the ground using Fiend Fyre. Yes,” he said to the disbelieving looks, “That's why no one ever really knew what had happened. Gideon told me that the closest he ever came to finding out anything about it was that he knew some of the unspeakables had served with Molly’s parents in the war. During the war, the one against Grindelwald, Molly’s parents had been stationed in the wizarding part of Bletchley Park. Some of the dark ritual magic they had had to fight against could have stayed with them and …” he shrugged his shoulders.

“Why I’m saying all of that, is because this spell,” he held up his wife’s wand, “was, as far as I know, invented by Molly's parents and has never been widely known or approved by the Ministry. In fact … you all know the unforgiveable curses and how they all have an associated Muggle crime?”

Percy spoke up self-importantly, “The killing curse is murder, obviously, and the Cruciatus is torture and Imperious is the equivalent of blackmail.”

“Correct as always Percy, but there is one major Muggle crime that doesn’t have a magical equivalent.”

“Kidnapping.” Blurted out Hermione and blushed at everyone’s sudden attention, “I always wondered why.”

“Yes, that’s right Hermione; kidnapping. Of course you can kidnap someone using magic – disapparate them then bind them magically but that’s not the same. Just like you can kill someone with magic, burn them or whatever, without using the killing curse, but it’s not the same either. This spell – the Incancarcerous – would, I believe, be an unforgivable curse too if it were more widely known. It would be called the Kidnapping Curse.

“You see, all trace of the boys is gone. There's nothing to indicate where they are, no spell as far as I know to find out either. It’s not like they are inside the wand, they’re not in here shrunken or anything like that. Where they are … I don’t know how to describe it. It’s magic: pure magical energy; like another dimension, or the wellspring of magical power. You can’t really see or touch anything there; the closest equivalent would be like how you feel when floating in water. But, and here’s where the house-elves season the stew, you experience every spell the wand does as if you were doing it. It’s not like if you were just sweeping,” he said pointing at the now still broom propped back up against the side of the house, “It’s more like the energy to do the spell is being drained out of you. Once you get out, you feel absolutely exhausted.”

The expressions on everyone’s faces probably mirrored Harry’s own, he thought.

Mr. Weasley smiled, “I see not just Percy is wondering how I know so much about the spell? Well apart from those two boys, I think I’m the only other person to have ever had the spell cast upon them.”

That got another round of shocked and astonished looks.

“And this is how I know your Mother is thinking back to that time of the death – no, let’s call it what it really was - the murder of her two most beloved brothers because that is when she used the spell on me.

After her parent’s died, it was her brothers that brought her up, and it wasn’t long before she came to school. Where she met your’s truly,” he bowed in acknowledgement of Charlie’s, ‘good one, dad.’ “School was pretty good, in the main, we didn’t really have much to do with Riddle and that lot – they were younger than us and only got there a few years before we left. I never liked Malfoy particularly; he was always a jumped up little snot, throwing around his father’s money.”

Harry exchanged a look with Ron and they both grinned.

“Gideon left when we went to fourth year and Fabian left when we went to sixth year. When we got out, I went into the Ministry and your Mother went back to school, not Hogwarts, she was studying to become a research witch like her mum and dad. You see her brothers were quite powerful wizards, but Molly outshone both of them and they knew it too; those boys really did love their little sister. She is inventive and clever, she can do things with her spell work which I simply cannot match – she’s very powerful. Ha! As Bellatrix found to her dismay.

“Anyway, I’m getting off track; I went to the Ministry and Molly went to school. That first year out was great. We got married soon after though because Molly wanted a family. The troubles really didn’t start until Riddle and his Death Eaters got out of school; even then for a year or so it was quiet, all the Death-Eaters-to-be fanned out and seemed to disappear. Riddle went to Borgin and Burkes of all places. Malfoy disappeared up his own,” he was going to say something but blushed slightly and changed it at the last second, “to his own manor. Everything was quiet for a bit; all the trouble that was brewing around Riddle and his gang seemed to disappear.

“The only trouble I had was with Rookwood at the Ministry. He joined straight out of school and went into the far more prestigious Department of Mysteries. I'd just gotten into my obscure little department which was considered by most to be little more than a joke. So he was destined for greatness, and I for obscurity.

“But after a few years, things turned around. Rookwood was stuck in a position that was only just a bit better than when he started. Being in the Department of Mysteries he, of course, couldn’t talk about any of his work with anyone. So he couldn’t big-note himself and schmooze his way up the ladder. Whereas I was going like a charging Manticore. I’d revolutionised the department because I could see that it overlapped with nearly every other department. So I was in and out everywhere and caught the attention of the people that mattered.

“Oh, Rookwood hated that. He was always trying to poison me.” At a gasp that went up from the table, he laughed and hastily added, “Not literally. Poison my reputation and abilities. And that’s when the other Death Eaters started coming out of the woodwork. Popping up here and there in strange places, like Avery and that lot. It began to become obvious to people like Dumbledore, who’d kept an eye on the situation, that the Death Eaters had spread themselves throughout our society to infiltrate key areas and bide their time. Every year there would be another one or two leaving Hogwarts and swelling their ranks.

“It’s also when things started to go bad. Rookwood, I told you was stuck in one position, but then the man over him suddenly disappeared and he got promoted; what a surprise, I don’t think. There were strange goings on, people disappearing and people not acting like themselves.

“However, some things had been going right for us, Molly and me. You boys,” he was nodding as he looked around the table at his sons and had, what Harry thought could only be a fatherly smile upon his face. “You all were a delight to Molly, who had put away her plans to go into research and decided to concentrate on all of you instead. With the way her mum and dad went, she wanted nothing to jeopardise her family and she was a great mum and genuinely loved raising all you boys.

“But outside the family, things started getting worse and worse. There was a rising tide of fear, especially at the Ministry. We didn’t know who to trust. I kept my head down and probably scuppered my chances of a promotion, but it was better than sticking my head up and getting it noticed by the wrong people. But I hadn’t factored in Rookwood.

“Because of jealousy and just, I don’t know, simple dislike, he had always kept an eye on me and so I didn't know that I had a big target on my back. So when they started to make their serious moves, and began to Imperius people or get rid of them if they couldn’t, I was high up on the list.

“They couldn’t or didn’t want to get me at the Ministry and they simply couldn’t here at the Burrow due to all the protective charms laid upon it, both personal and Ministry ones. So they hatched a plan to lure me out to a small rural village with a supposed case of jinxed cutlery. Now I knew it to be a village inhabited by a few wizarding families, so I wasn’t suspicious at all. What they hadn’t counted on, was that an old schoolmate of Molly’s lived there. So she took the opportunity to meet me and have morning tea with her friend. I was going to try to get the lay of the land from her friend – where the house was, who lived in it, stuff like that.” Percy must have done something to attract his father’s attention because Mr. Weasley said, “No Percy, the vagueness of the report was nothing to cause suspicion, you should see some of the sketchy cases that I have to go and investigate.

“Molly had left all you boys with my mother, who was still alive then, and her brothers because you lot were a bit too much of a handful for one little old lady. We had tea with her friend, but I didn’t learn much so we decided to go and check the place out together. I wasn’t expecting much trouble; I’d dealt with jinxed cutlery before and most times, for whatever reason, cutlery is cursed to fly around harassing anyone who tries to eat using them.”

That produced a snort of amusement from someone. “Yes,” said Mr. Weasley smiling ruefully himself, “I don’t know why it is, ease of the spell must factor into it, but yes, the wizard or Muggle sticks their fork into a potato or goes to cut a piece of steak and then it’s on for young and old. Knives, forks and spoons flying around everywhere.” This produced smiles from around the table until Mr. Weasley added, “I guess Muggle baiters must get their kicks in a similar sort of puerile way.” 

That sobered everyone and Harry for one stopped grinning when he realised exactly what he was finding amusing.

“The house had once belonged to a witch; that much I had learnt from Molly’s friend. Whoever had owned it had moved away or died, I don’t know which, but approaching the house I could tell it was deserted. I can remember wondering how the report had come to be made, but I still wasn’t suspicious – quite a lot of reports come from somebody looking through a window of a stranger’s house and seeing peculiar things happening.”

“The house was one of those rambling old Victorian houses at the edge of town – you know the sort: brick with a slate roof, a sort of tower thing on one side. The closer we got, the more deserted it looked: broken windows, some of the porch railing had been kicked out, and it had a general look of disrepair about it. As we were walking up the path to the front door, there were the two loud ‘cracks’ of people apparating in. I turned to see who it was, and saw Molly’s brothers.”

“Molly immediately asked, ‘are the boys alright?’ because, remember I said they were looking after you lot. But it was nothing bad, just one of the older boys - Bill or Charlie, can’t remember which one of you it was - wanted to do something and they popped down to get our permission while the younger ones were asleep for their afternoon nap.”

“But Mr. Weasley,” asked Hermione, “How did they know exactly where you were?”

He looked at her blankly for a few seconds then recalled himself with a ‘ha’ and a shake of his head. “You know I’d forgotten about that. I suppose on the face of it, it sounds implausible that they could both apparate to exactly where we were– well to Molly at least. You see when they were younger their parents had cast a complicated charm on them that was obviously one of their own devising, because the secret of it was lost with them. Any two of the three siblings could hold hands, and they would know where the other one was. The spell is somewhat similar to the one used in our clock, a variation on a locator charm. Apparently Molly was always running away to play as a young girl, so her parents cast it so that they wouldn’t have to stop their research to go and find her. They could just get the boys to do it.

“I really had forgotten about that Hermione. I remember, Molly really hated that they could do that while she was still at school.” Mr. Weasley looked a little sad for a moment, but then he continued. “They, the brothers, asked what they had come to ask, but then were wondering what we were doing. When I told them, they wanted to stay for a bit and have a look in the spooky, old deserted house with us. We went up to the front door and knocked, but it just swung open. We said loud ‘Hellos’ from the doorway, but there was no answer of course. We didn’t expect there would be - the state of the inside was just as bad, if not worse, than the outside. I…” 

Mr. Weasley coughed, “Charlie, please, could you pour me a drink?” He swallowed down most of the water passed to him in one go. As he poured himself another he said, “Listen to me rattle on, I’m not boring anyone am I?”

There was a chorus of no's and shaking of heads. Bill said, “No Dad, of course not, none of us have ever heard this before. Hey Perce, do you remember them?”

“A little bit, not much.”

“Didn’t think so, you were too young, but I remember them quite well and Charlie probably does too.”

“Yep,” agreed Charlie.

“So Dad, I always wanted to know what happened to them beyond the ‘your uncles have gone away and you cannot ever see them again’ that Mum gave us. So please, please continue.”

“Yes. I always thought your Mother should tell it to you, but I guess she never did because it always makes her feel sad; she always second guessed herself about what happened, I know she does – if she’d done this or that differently, could it have turned out in any way other than it did?”

He sighed, and then asked the table, “Where was I?”

“You’d just entered the house,” supplied Ron.

“Thanks. So we were in the entrance way shouting out ‘hello’ and ‘anybody here’, but there was no answer. There was an impressive old hall stand to one side of us with a broken mirror, I remember. The little entranceway opened out into a large room with doorways to either side and a huge staircase in front of us which split at right-angles half way up to go to the upper floor. Gideon had found an old broom in an umbrella stand. ‘A Cleansweep 2,’ he said and dropped it to his feet, then said ‘up’ and up it floated. ‘Wow, good as new – they don’t make them like this anymore,’ he said.

“While he had been playing with the broom, we’d moved into the house proper. I was looking around and it was obvious that no one had been in it for years. Fabian had gone a bit further and looked through one of the side doorways into the ruined room beyond. He turned around with this really puzzled expression and said, ‘Tell me again why you are here?’

“And that’s when I suddenly realised how suspicious it all was. Nothing about the report of jinxed cutlery now made any sense: who would have seen it; who in this house would have been using it? It was all wrong. Fabian could see my sudden worry and, whipping out his wand, he dropped to a defensive stance all in one move, but that’s when we heard them – the loud cracks of people apparating all around the house.

“Gideon locked the front door behind us with the colloportus. Molly and I had taken out our wands in readiness too. We kept quiet, we probably couldn’t be seen in the darkened house from outside. We heard the ones out front coming closer and then a voice echoed throughout the house. It was magically amplified and altered to conceal their identity, but I could tell it was Rookwood. ‘ARTHUR WEASLEY,’ it said, ‘COME OUT AND JOIN US, OR BY THE ORDERS OF THE DARK LORD YOU SHALL DIE.’

“We didn’t say anything back and I heard someone out front mutter something and then we all felt a wave pass through us. I'd felt it before, the homen revelio. I saw the look on Fabian’s face, he knew what it was too. Then we heard from outside somebody else swear and say, ‘There's more than just him in there, Rookwood. At least three others and all of them wizards too.’ Rookwood swore in that amplified voice, forgetting to turn it off, then in his normal voice said, 'We won’t be able to turn him, not with others there, so he has to die. Go back and get reinforcements.’ We heard a crack as whoever it was who cast the homen revilio disapparated.

“Rookwood’s voice rang out again, ‘morde mortre’, as he cast the Dark Mark above the house.”

“But didn't they only do that after they’d killed someone?” Percy asked.

“That’s what everyone thought, but we learnt that day, that they did it over a house of someone they intended to kill. It served to scare the people inside, and I tell you it didn’t do anything to improve our mood, that’s for sure. They started pelting the house with spells. Fabian risked a look out the front, ‘I can’t fire out here,’ he said. Gideon had gone into the right hand room and rushed back into the foyer saying, ‘There’s one out this side too. There’s probably the same out the other side and the back.’ And just as he was saying it there was a loud crash from somewhere behind the house.

“The two brothers looked at each other and I could see the lack of hope written on their faces. Gideon said, ‘Molls, you’ve got to get out of here.’ Fabian nodded and I saw your mum about to arc up and demand to stay and fight, but then I played my trump card, ‘Yes Molly, go. Save yourself and save our baby.’

“And in the midst of all that horror, of Death Eaters advancing in on us, there was this lovely little moment of joy. ‘We’re going to be uncles again,’ said one and the other said, ‘you’re a baby making machine little sis. I hope it’s a girl this time for your sake.’ Then the other one said … no, it was Fabian. So it must have been Gideon who said, ‘hope it’s a girl’, because Fabian said, ‘Make sure you call her Ginevra because you know I’ve always loved that name.”

Everyone was starting at Mr. Weasley, intent upon his every word, but Harry heard a sniff from right beside him and he saw Ginny with her head bowed. “Aw, Gin,” he said, stretching out his arm and bundling her up in a hug. She tilted her head up and nestled it into Harry’s shoulder; her bottom lip caught between her teeth and tears in her eyes. Harry gave her a squeeze of reassurance and kissed the top of her forehead.

He looked up to find the whole table looking his way and initially he thought this was one of those ‘protective older brother’ moments, but it wasn’t because they weren’t looking at him. They were all focusing on Ginny; realising just what their uncle’s sacrifice had meant. It was suddenly all the more real, not just some tale out of history - here was Ginny and Mr. Weasley (and somewhere upstairs, Mrs. Weasley too), all alive and well because their uncles weren’t.

“That’s about it really,” said Mr. Weasley taking up the reins of the story., “The moment didn’t last long and Gideon said, ‘that settles it Moll, go and save yourself and our niece-to-be and your husband too. We’ll give you the chance.’ I was going to protest, but I didn’t argue because I could see the truth in his face. Anyone who stayed to fight them off would die. It didn’t matter how many stayed, the outcome was inevitable. I turned to your mother and could see that she realised it too.

“She said to me, ‘Do you trust me?’ I smiled and said, ‘with my life’. Not taking her eyes off mine she raised her wand and cast the Incancarcerous on me. And that’s all I remember really, except for vague moments and snippets of conversation. Molly told me later that one of them placed a disillusionment charm on her and I heard Gideon say, ‘the broom Molls, the broom.’

“Your Mother must have cast some spells at the Death Eaters as we flew past because I can remember feeling how horrible it was. Like all the energy to do the magic was being sucked out of me. There was a period of time - I couldn’t judge it, minutes, days, hours - and then I was back here, at home in the Burrow, your mother holding her wand out, pointing at me, having obviously reversed the spell. Then she collapsed into my arms crying and crying and I knew her brothers must be gone.”

There was complete silence around the table broken only by the quiet sobs of Ginny. Harry noticed that all the partners were hugging each other, Bill and Fleur and Ron and Hermione.

“But Dad, there’s,” Charlie said, stumbling over his words, “in the broom-shed … there’s that old Cleansweep 2 …”

His father smiled sadly back at him, “After it saved us I never had the heart to throw it out; and, after all, a broom’s a broom when I have seven kids who all want to play Quidditch.”

Harry realised, in that funny way that you do when you think of the wrong things at the wrong moments, that Mr. Weasley’s count was now out by one. Not for all the gold in Gringotts would Harry have said it aloud, but he saw that Mr. Weasley must have realised it himself as the sad grin slipped off his face to be replaced by just sadness.

Percy spoke up, “But Father, I cannot understand why you didn’t all simply just dissaparate away?”

“Oh, um didn’t I say?” pulling himself back into the conversation. “When Gideon came back from looking out the window in the other room, he did something with his wand. He held it on his palm,” Mr. Weasley made the hand gestures with his wife’s wand to illustrate his words, “and it spun around and pointed straight back the way he’d come. He swore and said, “North, they’re at the bloody points of the compass, so they’ve set up an anti-apparition charm, or worse an interdiction field.”

Bill let out a low whistle, “I can’t believe that they’d … wait a sec, what am I saying, they’re Death Eaters, they’re capable of anything low and contemptible, aren’t they?”

Ron, none the wiser, said, “What’s an interdict-tion whatsit anyway?”

Percy spoke up, “An interdiction field, Ronald, can be set up around a place or a person, such that when any one tries to apparate into or out of the field, the apparition will not work correctly. At best the person will bounce back to where they began the apparition. Usually though it will cause severe splinching. Casting an interdiction field is banned, with severe penalties from the Ministry if you have been found to cast one.” 

Percy’s reconciliation with the family had taught him some humility and had cured him of some of his ‘the-Ministry-is-right-at-all-times’ way of thinking, but his old pompous, know-it-all personality would never change significantly.

“Thank you Percy,” said Mr. Weasley having just taken another long drink. Then he looked down at the table in front of him still piled high with food. “Now please, let us all finish this wonderful meal before it gets any colder.”

They all tucked into the meal, realising just how hungry they all were. Except for Ginny. When Harry made to let her go she hung onto him even tighter. She ate desultorily with her free right hand, picking up and nibbling on a drumstick. Harry was reduced to stabbing what morsels he could with a fork in his left hand, but he didn’t mind. He wouldn’t have chucked Ginny off for anything.

* * *

**  
Well, there you have it; I hoped you all liked the final tale of the brothers Prewit.**

**I’ve said before that this story is full of all my head cannons and this is one of them. And, what’s more, I think I found a fairly good place to insert it into the story. Mr. Weasley is a fairly risible character in the books and is often played only for humour. I can really relate to him as a dad and the way he is to his kids – for instance his kids laugh at him for his Muggle obsession and my own children laugh at my obsession with Harry Potter Fan fiction. I wanted to show here, that for all his good humour, he has been through some dark times.**

**I want to thank, as always, my wonderful beta, Pixileanin. My tendency to slip up slightly on my tenses; the lack of capitalisation of Muggle; the lack of a full stop after Mr. or Mrs.; and sundry other little mistakes of phrasing – the reason you have not seen any of the aforementioned is due to her diligence and effort.**

**Anyone who has any questions, or who likes the chapter, is free to leave comments in the box below; remember all reviews are always responded to (eventually) and any review I receive I treat as a review swap (also eventually). ;)  
**


	8. Chapter 7: Hemlines and Headlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids troop to Diagon Alley with Mrs. Weasley to buy new dress robes for the girls, for Harry and to get Ron's let out.

**Note: If I was writing about Barry and his best mate Roam going dress shopping with their girlfriends, Jenny and Harmonium, well then it would all be mine I tells ya, all mine BWHA HA HA !**

... but, as to the rest, as you will no-doubt actually recognise their names, all I am doing is playing in the sandbox of a very rich woman and she allows this because of her tolerance and generosity of spirit.

* * *

Chapter 7 : Hemlines and Headlines

 

Harry woke to light streaming in through the window. Because he’d been bed-hopping for the past few weeks, it took him a few moments to gather where he was … the feel of the bed, the smell of the freshly laundered sheets, the Cannons posters on the wall … it must be Ron’s room at the Burrow. Ron’s gentle snoring confirmed it.

He got up and dressed for the day, not bothering to keep his movements quiet because he knew, from years of experience, that nothing short of yelling at Ron would serve to wake him.

\--o-O-o--

Harry entered the kitchen to find Mrs. Weasley up and about, cooking something, the delicious smells of which had drawn him all the way down the stairs. Hermione was there too, seated at the table and eating a bowl of oatmeal. She saw him before Mrs. Weasley did.

“Hi, Harry.”

Mrs. Weasley turned and bustled him into a chair. “Good morning Harry dear, hungry for breakfast? I’ve got bacon and eggs, sausages too, and some more toast on the way. There’s mushrooms and tomatoes, just say the word and I’ll cook them too.”

“Thanks Mrs. Weasley, sounds great. I wouldn’t mind a couple of tomatoes if that’s no bother.” He started to collect the toast, but Mrs. Weasley beat him to it and floated them over with her wand. He went to get the butter, but again Mrs. Weasley was quicker and the butter settled gently to the table beside his plate. He laughed resignedly and said, “thanks,” again and started to butter the toast.

He looked across the table at Hermione, “Gin’ not up yet?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t you know it, bet Ron’s still in bed too. Nothing short of a bomb will get either of them up early on a day they know that they can sleep in.”

“Well, they don’t have that long,” Mrs. Weasley said sliding bacon and eggs and sausages off the pan and onto his plate with a spatula. “We’ve got to get going soon, to make sure that we can get your new robes in time. I had a look at your dress-robes Harry, you left them here when you went ‘travelling’ last year.” Her mouth turned down and she frowned as she always did when that subject came up. “They are no good; obviously too small. Ginny will need some new ones too.” She sighed. Harry knew that money was perpetually tight in the Weasley household. Mrs. Weasley perked up though when she said, “Luckily Ron’s are alright - the ones Fred,” she faltered, but kept herself going, “and George got him. Ron must have had most of his growth spurt before they’d got them for him; so all we have to do is get them taken out just a little. You’ll want some clothes too, won't you Hermione?”

Hermione nodded vigorously.

“When you’re finished, could you go and see if you can’t raise those two layabouts, if you can?”

“Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry, coming to a decision, “I’ll get Ginny’s new robes for her.”

He could see that Mrs. Weasley was going to protest at his seeming charity, but he forestalled her. “No, I insist Mrs. Weasley. You see, last year when we were ‘travelling’,” he grinned up at her, sending her words back at her and she had to ruefully grin in response, “I didn’t get Ginny a birthday present, or a Christmas present either. So I’d really like to.”

“Hey Hermione, remember last Christmas?”

 

“Hm hm,” she said through a mouthful of food. She swallowed as she nodded. “I don’t think that I’m ever likely to forget it.”

“We’d gone to Godric’s Hollow, Mrs. Weasley, for, well,” Harry paused, not able to go into the minutiae of it all, “for lots of reasons, but we were standing there in the snow of the graveyard and I saw the lights and heard the singing coming from the church. I hadn’t even realised it was Christmas time till then. I felt so isolated from happiness and joy and um, normal life, you know? After that, later on, oh and after we were attacked by Nagini, Voldemort’s snake, and we had to flee for our lives - I can remember wondering what Ginny was doing and wondering if she’d moved on. I half hoped she hadn’t and half hoped she had, she deserved happiness and I hoped that she had it, somehow.”

“So Mrs. Weasley, I really, really want to get her robes. I want her to be the most beautiful person there. I just … yeah, I really want to get them for her, ‘cause then it’ll be like I just put that Christmas on hold and saved it for a happier time.”

Mrs. Weasley had tears in her eyes, “You poor things,” shoveling more bacon onto Harry’s plate. She went to do the same for Hermione, but she held her hand in the way.

“I’m full, thanks. Think I’ll go see if I can get Ron and Ginny up.” She put her dishes in the sink and scampered off, up the stairs.

At Hermione’s exit, Harry suddenly noticed that Mrs. Weasley was looking at him with a strange, unreadable expression on her face. When she noticed him noticing her regard, she turned abruptly and busied herself with the pots and pans waiting to be cleaned in the sink.

“Harry,” she said in a voice that was also unusual, “Harry, you know I trust you. After all you’ve done for this family and everyone, you know that I trust you with my life, but,” and she clanked the plates around in the sink as she was obviously trying to find the words. Still she didn’t turn to look at him, “ but … boys with be … I mean …” She stopped talking again and Harry could see, even from behind, that she was starting to blush. Her ears were going red, just like Ron’s did.

But the amusement he was feeling suddenly disappeared as he realised what she was on about. He found he was staring at the back of her head with his mouth open. He knew what was coming next, and he dreaded it being spoken. He tore his gaze away from her, feeling his own cheeks begin to burn, and stared down at his half finished meal - willing Mrs. Weasley to stop talking; like right now.

“While you’re under my roof, I don’t want any … any Hanky Panky with my daughter.”

Harry through all of Mrs. Wesley’s words, couldn’t look up, couldn't bear the thought that she was actually talking about what she was talking about. He wished that the floor would open up and swallow him, chair, table, breakfast and all. A flash of movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and he looked up, despite his wishes to the contrary, to see that Mrs. Weasley had spun around from the sink. She brandished a pot scrubber at him, “And I’m the one who brought up Fred and George, so I know the ways around that. I also mean in the fields or in the shed or in any of the secret places dotted around the countryside hereabouts.”

Both of them were red at the embarrassment of it. Here was the woman - the mother of his girlfriend, the closest thing he’d ever known to a mother himself - scolding him. She was the defeater of Bellatrix Lestrange, standing here in an apron with soap suds on one hand and a scrubbing brush in the other. Either Harry’s head was going to explode with the horror of it all, or …

… he started to laugh.

Mrs. Weasley’s eyes flashed with the beginning of anger as she said, “Don’t you dare laugh at me Harry Potter.” But Harry was just shaking his head as he approached her and her anger started to dissolve when she knew he wasn't laughing at her. She began to grin too as he came closer. 

He took her unprotesting hands in her own and looked her in the eyes, “Mrs. Weasley, I can’t believe we’re talking about this, I was thinking, just before, that my head was going to explode from the embarrassment.”

“I swear to you that I’m not going to get up to any,” he faltered over the words ‘hanky panky’ - he just couldn’t, wouldn’t say them. “Um, anything untoward with your daughter, apart from a bit of kissing and cuddling.” They both turned redder, but Mrs. Weasley seemed satisfied.

“While we are talking about embarrassing things, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to say to you for quite a while. Back when we were all living in Grimmauld place, back when we were there with the Order of the Phoenix and, you know, Sirius was still alive. Someone said something like, ‘you’re not his mum,’ and you said back, ‘well, I’m as good as, who else’s he got?’ Do you remember that?”

Mrs. Weasley could only nod.

“I wanted to hear what they were going to tell me about the Order and the plans they had and all of that stuff, so I didn’t say anything then, but I was really touched by that. The thought has stayed with me for years and,” he shook his head trying to work out what to say. “If my mum had stayed alive and she’d turned out a tenth as good as you are, I’d be lucky I think.”

Mrs. Weasley dropped his hand and hugged him. The last time they’d hugged like this, he’d been much smaller and had been the one to bury his face in her chest. But now she hunkered down and her head was below his chin this time. Harry wrapped his arms around her and they stayed that way for a time, remembering loved ones lost.

She disentangled herself eventually and straightened up her apron. “Well we can’t stand around here all day. We’ve all got things to do.”

“So, even though it’s against my better judgement,” Harry wondered what she was on about, “even though I don’t think you boys have been punished enough,” ah, now Harry knew, “I’d probably better let you out.”

She pulled her wand out of her apron pocket, pointed it towards an empty part of the room and said, “Incancarceration Finate.” There was a swooshing and basically the opposite happened of what Harry had observed last night. The two boys expanded out of the end of her wand until they both stood there, finally returned to full size.

As one, they both collapsed, exhausted into chairs at the end of the table. Well, George did, Fred mirrored his twin’s actions, except he didn’t get it quite right - he was halfway through the chair and his knees were sticking out of the top of the table. They were groaning and panting and George managed to gasp out, “Mum … we swear on our lives … that you’ll never be … the object of one of our pranks … ever again.”

Fred held up a feeble, translucent hand and pointed it at George and also gasped out, “well on his life anyway.”

George rallied himself a bit and said, “Food!” He snatched Harry’s plate to himself and started shovelling it in. Fred looked at him enviously, “Wish I could eat, I’m drained and starving.”

“Hey that’s Harry’s,” shouted Mrs. Weasley.

“No it bloody isn’t, I cooked it when I was in that wand of yours - I could feel it. Anyway, my need is greater than his, right Harry?”

Harry shrugged and nodded.

“See, saviour of the wizarding world he is, puts other people’s need before his own,” said Fred because George was stuffing his face. “Mum, did you have to do everything with magic this morning?”

“Yeah,” said George, through a mouthful of food, “all the cooking and all that cleaning?”

“Why did you need to peel all those potatoes too,” said Fred in the same tone.

Mrs. Weasley just regarded them with her lips quirked and her hands on her hips. “Harry,” she said, still looking at the twins, but addressing him. “Go and get ready and try to drag that good-for-nothing son of mine out of his bed.”

\--o-O-o--

It was just under an hour later when they all arrived in Diagon Alley.

It hadn’t taken that long to get Ron and the other’s up, but it had, to get them all fed and ready. Charlie and Bill and Mr. Weasley had stayed up drinking and talking - Mrs. Weasley had heard her husband saying something about dragons as he came to bed. The men had politely, and not so politely, declined the invitation to join them all.

When Harry had gone to get Ron, he had learnt from recent experience to knock first. Knock he did and there came sounds of scurrying from within the room. “I’m just going to the bathroom, but I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” 

When he returned, it was to find Hermione sitting on his bed near the door and Ron leaning up against his headboard near the window - probably as far apart as they could possibly get and still be in the same cramped room. Harry rolled his eyes and told them to get their acts together, they all had to be going soon.

They flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and entered the street through the brick wall behind it. Diagon Alley had a subdued air about it which was immediately apparent as they started walking along the street. The place was still recovering from the year of fear under Voldemort and his followers. Voldemort hadn’t been there much, but his followers … his Death Eaters had strode the place like they’d owned it. Consequently it was taking a while to get back up on it’s feet.

So many shops were boarded up or vacant. The first to have opened, or perhaps they were the only ones to have remained open, were the ones that sold essentials. The shops that had sold luxuries or those items that people could make do without - well, those places were still doing it tough. New robes obviously fell into the latter category - people must have been getting by with their old robes - such that Madam Malkin’s was empty of people and had a rundown look to it that mirrored the street. 

They entered Madame Malkins, the shop bell announcing their arrival. For a moment, as they all piled inside, there appeared to be no one.

But there came a, “Welcome, welcome,” from somewhere in the back then the proprietress herself came into view. She’d just rounded a rack of second-hand school robes when she stopped dead as she saw just who had come in. She made a little noise then rushed forward with her arms open.

Harry was embarrassed because this had happened to him more than once before, but to his surprise, she brushed right past and embraced Mrs. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley looked a bit nonplussed herself and gave the shopkeeper a tentative pat on the back.

“Molly, Molly,” the woman was saying, “How are you keeping up? Are you alright?”

Mrs. Weasley still looked like she didn’t really understand the sudden concern until Madam Malkin said, “I can’t believe they want to put you on trial for what you did? If you ask me that … that,” and very quickly, in a softer voice she said, “bitch,” like she wasn’t used to such language, and then she returned to her normal speaking voice, “deserved it and worse. She was horrible; evil.”

“I was talking to Malfalda," she let Mrs. Weasley go, “who couldn’t believe it either. When your trial comes up, don’t you worry, we at least will vote to dismiss it out of hand. And there’s more who have said they will too.”

Ron was looking at the small middle-aged witch with an incredulous expression. “You’re on the Wizengamot?”

“Don’t be so rude Ron,” scolded Hermione. “The Wizengamot is made up of a cross section of the wizarding community to better represent the interests of our society as a whole. Everyone from Ministry officials to respected leaders in their fields to the common and everyday folk are called to its service.”

Madam Malkin’s smile began to freeze upon her face, thinking where she fell into Hermione’s categories. But Hermione wasn’t looking her way and so wasn’t influenced by consideration for the shop owner when she added, “So I’m sure Madam Malkin is there because she’s a leading figure in the Wizard fashion industry. She has to deal with everyone from the poorest of the poor to the richest; from those with little magic of their own, right up to the Minister of Magic himself, I wouldn’t wonder. As such there are probably only a few people so in touch with the whole of wizarding society as her. Am I right?” said Hermione as she turned to look at Madam Malkin who had now swollen visibly with pride.

Harry didn’t know the truth of Hermione’s words, though they sounded right, but he did know something - Hermione would be getting top service at Madam Malkin’s that day.

Madam Malkin herself said, “Well I don’t know about all of that, but I have served on the Wizengamot for a number of years, and I like to think that I’ve done so honestly and well. But this case against you Molly, I’m going to go in and vote that it be dismissed without trial.”

“No,” said Mrs. Weasley. “No, don’t do that. I’ve come to terms with it and I realise why it has to happen. There have been plenty of better witches than me in the past who’ve fallen to evil ways once they got the taste for killing.”

“Aw, Mum?” said Ginny.

“No it’s true, and I probably won’t go to Azkaban.” This produced another round of protests from all the kids this time. “I won’t, I don’t think,” talking over the kids, “ I’ll probably just get a probationary sentence where I have to prove that I haven’t killed anyone else in that time. Which should be easy enough, unless a certain son of mine plays another prank on me.”

That set them all to laughing and considerably lightened the mood.

“It has to be done kids, or we’re like them, the Death Eaters. They killed and tortured without trial, but we’re better than that. And at least I have a good excuse: I was protecting you and you,” pointing at Ginny and Hermione, “ from that evil, murdering,” she turned to Madam Malkin and with an emphatic nod concluded with, “Bitch!”

“So hopefully that should count in my favour. Anyway time is pressing and we must get robes and they have to be for a function tonight, I’m afraid.”

That set Madam Malkin and them all a bustling. Ginny and Hermione were sent over to look through some racks of dresses while Ron was sent to change into his dress robes. It wasn’t a minute before Ron returned and Madam Malkin busied herself with measuring him up and seeing how much she need to adjust the fit of his robes. It wasn’t much, Mrs. Weasley’s estimation had been correct.

As she measured him, Madam Malkin said a bit embarrassedly, “I’m sorry if I was too overly familiar before, I just … you probably don’t remember me from school?”

“Don’t be silly, of course I do,” said Mrs. Weasley, fibbing only slightly, “I mean you were several years younger than me so we didn’t have much to do with each other, but I remember for the Yule Ball in my fifth year, you made the dresses for half the girls there.”

“I’m sure I didn’t make that many,” Madam Malkin said modestly, taking a pin out of her mouth to voice her protest.

“You made for me this beautiful pale green gown. It flowed off the shoulder and down the bodice into a modest train, oh yes, with that absolutely gorgeous lace for the sleeves.”

“Oh you do remember,” said Madam Malkin, looking genuinely pleased.

“I looked so elegant in it and it oddly matched the trimmings of the robes that Arthur wore.” She looked inquisitively over at the plump witch sitting on the floor pinning Ron’s hem up. “As if it was deliberately made to match, I always wondered?”

Madam Malkin assumed an innocent expression and half shrugged. It perfectly communicated, without the need for any words, the fact that of course it was, but she’d never admit as much out loud.

“That was the first time that Arthur had seriously paid me any attention. I like to think that our marriage is based upon more than just that beautiful dress, but I know it helped.”

Madam Malkin beamed up at Mrs. Weasley from her position on the floor with pride. A movement next to her though, brought her back to the here and now. “That will do Master Weasley. Go and strip off the robes and give them to the assistant in the back. They'll be ready in an hour or so.”

“As for you Mr Potter …”

“No, I’ll wait. Let’s see what Ginny picks and I’ll get whatever you think will look best with hers.”

“Good decision Mr. Potter, good decision, but I’ll need to measure you up anyway.”

The girls appeared with several dresses under their arms and Madam Malkin informed then that once Ron was finished in the change room, they were free to try on as many dresses as they liked.

Ron was back, almost before Madam Malkin had finished talking. Hermione told him that he was good to go. “No doubt,” she said, “you probably want to go and check out the latest broom or whatever.”

“Nope,” Ron contradicted her, “I bought something to read. I’ll sit down and read for a bit while my girlfriend tries on some beautiful dresses.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead. “We both will, won’t we Harry?”

“Um, sure,” said Harry hesitatingly until he caught sight of Ginny and then he smiled, imagining her in some of the dresses she held. “Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.”

Ginny rushed over to him, gave him a big kiss, then hurried back to Hermione. They both giggled together and went to change. Ron wandered over to where Harry was sitting, pulling a copy of ‘Quidditch Today’ from out of his back pocket. As he sat down he said in a low voice only Harry could hear, “How to Charm Witches: Chapter Twelve: Clothes Shopping. I swear to you Harry, if I’d read my Transfiguration textbook as well, I’d’ve been  
able to turn Voldemort into hot buttered toast.” 

He opened his magazine. “I’ve got another one, if you want it?”

“Sure,” said Harry and began to read himself.

He flicked through the magazine, past an article about the new chaser for the Falcons, skimming over a breakdown of the teams for next year’s league, but was finding it hard to read because he was more interested in listening in to the conversation Mrs. Weasley was having with Madam Malkin.

Madam Malkin was unpicking the hem on Ron’s robes. “I got sidetracked before, when I was talking about Bellatrix. You didn’t really know her at school did you?”

“No, not really. I think I basically left just as she came.”

“Yes, I thought as much. She was a few years my junior too, but even so she was a nasty piece of work right from the start. She didn’t bully me as such because I was older than her, but she was rude and talked back to nearly everyone, including the teachers she didn’t like. Everyone probably had a few nasty run-ins with her and her gang of Slytherins.”

“I say all of this, because she came into here a few months ago and it was just like school all over again. She walked in here like she owned the place, insulting everything she sawsees. Demanding to see my best and then insulting that too. Pulling dresses off the racks, holding them up to herself and then throwing them down onto the floor.”

“When she finally found something that she wanted, a beautiful gown in pure blue silk, she sighs, ‘ I suppose this rag will have to do,’ and takes some galleons out of her purse and throws them down on the ground - like we were dogs - before she strides out the door. And what’s more, she didn’t pay nearly enough either.”

Harry looked at Madam Malkin’s expression and couldn’t tell which offender her more: the indignity of having to scrabble on the floor for her money, or being shortchanged.

“What reminded me that we were talking about her was this,” holding up the set of robes in her lap that she was unpicking. “I have to do this work myself because we are short staffed. While Bellatrix was here, I had to go out the back for a bit and while I was gone that evil…” she paused, not wanting to say the b-word again, “she said something or did something to Sandra, one of my assistants. She’s a squib, you see, the daughter of one of my old school chums. She grew up in an entirely wizarding family, except for herself, and didn’t want to leave the wizarding world. So, as she can sew and use a sewing machine, I took her on as a favour for my friend, but it really worked out because she’s been a fabulous worker for me ever since.”

“Until now. After whatever it was that Bellatrix did to her, she’s not been the same. She doesn’t turn up to work, and doesn’t let me know that she’s not going to be coming in. Then she’s moody when she’s here,” she sighed, “ I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh that looks lovely girls,” said Madam Malkin completely changing her tone and alerting Harry to the return of Ginny and Hermione. The pair modeled a couple of gowns for them. Ginny had on a pale blue dress with short sleeves that gathered in at the waist. Whereas Hermione had on a long flowing gown with long sleeves of the deepest blue. It came down in a V at the front which showed off too much flesh for Harry, but Ron seemed to like it.

After being suitably admired, the girls went off to select some more dresses and Ron took the opportunity to put on his adjusted robes. He came back out of the change rooms, just as the girls went in with a bundle of clothes in their arms.

Madam Malkin was making some final adjustments to the robe as Ron stood there, straight backed and arms at his sides. He said to Harry, “You know what? If Mum is being tried for Bellatrix, I’m surprised that you aren’t getting one too Harry, you know, a trial.”

Madam Malkin, pulling a pin out of her teeth and fixing it into the hem of the robes answered before Harry could say anything. “It was dismissed.”

“What?” cried Ron, jerking back and looking down at her.

“OW!” she cried, putting her finger to her lips and sucking it. “Please keep still Mr. Weasley.”

“But, but, Harry was going to be put on trial … for killing Voldemort?”

“No.”

“What? But you just said …” Ron said in confusion.

“Ron, she’s teasing you.” his mother said with a sly grin on her face.

“I am a bit,” said Madam Malkin with a similar smirk,”but, Harry Potter didn’t face charges because he didn’t kill He Who Must Not Be Named.”

“What?” exclaimed Ron yet again and he was looking back and forward between Harry, his mother and Madam Malkin. Into this scene walked Ginny and all the attention swung her way.

She hadn’t taken long to change this time and Harry could see exactly why. The most notable thing about the dress was it’s lack of dress. It moulded to Ginny’s frame like it was painted on and it didn’t make it to mid thigh, no it stopped quite a bit higher than that. As to where it started, there was nothing over her shoulders holding it up. Harry couldn't see what on earth was holding it up because it came just over her chest in the front, and in the back it was cut much lower, almost to the top of her bum.

She was slightly flushed, but she brazened it out anyway with her head held high.

Harry didn’t mind it at all, but was frightened to look at her too long because of Mrs. Weasley sitting right next to him. Ron, on the other hand let out a scandalised, “Ginny!”

To give her her due, she met him with a, “It’s no business of yours Ron. I’m almost of age and I can wear what I want.”

Mrs. Weasley was uncharacteristically silent and Harry couldn’t help himself but to look round at her. She was unconcernedly flipping through the pages of an old Witch Weekly she’d been browsing through before. She must have seen Ginny when she came in, but now she didn’t look up from the pages of the magazine as she said, “Yes, Little Miss Generva Weasley, you are almost of age and you can wear what you want, but there’s only one thing that I want to remind you of.”

Ginny waited for her mum to finish, but she kept flicking through the magazine saying nothing. In exasperation Ginny said, “What? What is it Mum?”

“Just this dear. Where are you going tonight? A goblin function, isn’t it?” she asked rhetorically. “Remind me again, what is the average height of a goblin?”

There was a moment for it to sink in, but when it did, Ginny went bright red, almost instantly. She made a strangled noise as her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ and she instinctively grasped the hem of the dress and pulled it downwards. She was, of course, forgetting the ramifications of the dress being a one-piece and cut fairly low in the top too. So she ended up nearly falling out of the top of the dress.

With a hand over her chest and one holding down the bottom of the hem, she scuttled back to the change rooms.

Mrs. Weasley calmly looked up from her magazine as if nothing had just transpired and addressed Madam Malkin once again. “You were saying?”

Madam Malkin looked up at Mrs. Weasley blankly after what had just happened, so Mrs. Weasley prompted her, “About Harry and the trial?”

“Oh, oh yes. A case was called as one always is when it is found that a wizard has died at the wand of another. From the testimonies of eyewitnesses the case was dismissed because Harry Potter didn’t kill He who Must Not Be Named.”

“But,” Ron began,”But I was there …”

“Then you should know, Harry Potter used the disarming spell, Expelliarmus, and … his opponent used the killing curse, which I’ll not name in my shop. One can kill and the other one simply cannot.”

She turned and looked to Harry. “The entire Wizengamot has been acquainted with some peculiar aspects of rare and esoteric wandlore, thanks to the expert testimony of Gervaise Olivander. Those of us who didn’t know before, now know about the twin cores and about how a wand’s allegiance to its owner can change. And so even though He Who Must Not be Named used Dumbledore’s wand, which must have been powerful itself, it called you master because of the chain of events started by Draco Malfoy.”

“The witnesses even said you warned him Mr. Potter, that his wand wouldn’t work against yours, but he cursed you anyway and it rebounded on him. Therefore, he killed himself.”

Ron closed his mouth, which had fallen open in surprise at Madam Malkin’s speech. But then he grinned and looked at Harry, “You always get out of stuff.”

Harry’s temper started to rise, but then he saw the smirk on his mate’s face and knew that he wasn’t being nasty. He then had to grin ruefully, because he had seemed to avoid a lot of punishments over the years. 

Ron was initially worried that Harry had taken it the wrong way, but then when he went sheepish, Ron stopped being concerned and said, “Yeah, you know it … jammy git.”

They were smiling together when the girls appeared again. The dresses they were wearing this time … well, there was only one word for them: awful.

They were a garish pink that clashed awfully with Ginny’s hair and didn’t do much for Hermione either. The colour would have been bad enough alone, but the styles of the dresses were horrible too. They were both festooned with frills and lace, and with so many bows; in many places where bows simply had no right to be. All in all, they were kitch and terrible. A final indignity, Harry realised, was that they were also completely unflattering to the girl’s figures.

“Well,” Hermione prompted, “What do you think?”

To everyone's surprise it was Ron who started to fill the sudden silence, and even more surprising it was in a sensible and calm manner. “Hermione, I love you to bits and pieces, you’re really beautiful, and I think that you’d make a hessian sack look good. But those dresses are terribly unflattering and don’t do your natural beauty justice. Isn’t that so, Harry?”

Harry was looking at Ron in complete surprise, but had to recover quickly enough to say, “Yeah, um, what he said.” He cursed himself for sounding so graceless next to Ron, it was usually Ron who came off sounding inelegant when he let his mouth take over - it must have been something from that book again. Harry rallied and said, “Ginny, you look beautiful, but that dress doesn’t.”

“Good,” said Hermione, coming over to Ron and giving him a big kiss on his forehead, “I was seeing if you were paying attention. We’ll go and take these hideous dresses off now.” But she blushed furiously as she remembered that she was standing right in front of the dressmaker herself. Hermione often said things without thinking about the emotional ramifications of them, Harry had seen her have to apologise more than once for her unconscious forthrightness. She hastily said, “So sorry Madam Malkin. I meant no disrespect.”

“Don’t worry dear,” Madam Malkin said, trying to put Hermione at her ease, “I didn’t make the awful things. It’s the perils of the shopkeep I’m afraid, forced to carry items you don’t like because there is a market for them and they will sell.”

“OK boys,” said Hermione, “You’ve been wonderful, but we don’t need you anymore. We’ve got a couple of dresses that we want to choose from, but we don’t want you to see what we get. We want it to be a surprise tonight. OK? So you two can go out and look at the latest Fire-sweep or whatever you want.”

Ron rolled his eyes at Hermione’s botched attempt at a broom name. “It’s a Firebolt or a Cleansweep, Hermione.”

Ron didn’t see, but Hermione caught Harry’s eye and with a smirk, gave him a cheeky little wink; she'd obviously misremembered the name of the broom on purpose. 

The two girls disappeared back into the changerooms, but as Harry got up Madam Malkin stopped him. “Just a moment Mr. Potter, and I’ll measure you up. So that I can select something that matches Miss Weasley’s dress.”

“Thanks,” he replied and stood still as Madam Malkin’s magical tape measure flew up and started measuring him. She came over with a pad and quill and jotted down all the measurements. Halfway through the measurements she asked Harry, “Is it true, Mr. Potter.”

Harry followed Madam Malkin's eye-line to the small table beside Mrs. Weasley. Alongside all the old editions of Witch Weekly, was today’s edition of the Daily Prophet. The headline blared out, ‘Goblin Girl to go to Hogwarts.’ Below which was the photo of the little goblin, looking very small, next to Slimshanks, Bill and Harry himself. It was all deliberately done by Slimshanks. He’d gotten his way with the headline, as he told Harry he would, and the photo served only to emphasise how tiny and insignificant Lightsthefire was - making her seem unthreatening to the wizard and witch readership. When Mrs. Weasley had first seen it she’d exclaimed, “Our Bill’s in the paper, oh, and you are too Harry dear.”

Harry had skimmed through the paper and found to his delight that it was reasonably close to what had been said back in the offices at Gringotts. He mentally thanked Alicia. Of course there was some sensationalism, it was a newspaper after all, but Harry hadn’t found himself cringing as he normally did when he had to read the articles by Rita Skeeter.

He must have been silent too long because Madam Malkin prompted him, “Mr. Potter?”

“Harry, please,” he said, “Please call me Harry.”

She smiled and gave him a nod, “It is all true then, goblins are going to be getting wands?”

“Goblin,” Harry corrected her politely, “only one goblin, and she has to study first at Hogwarts before she’ll actually become a witch.”

“Yes, but how soon will it be before there’s another and another?” She must have seen the look of disquiet on Harry’s face because she hastily added, “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but I’m not saying it’s good either, I’m … I don’t know what to think. And they’ve called a meeting in extraordinaire of the Wizardgamot for Monday to discuss it.”

Harry had to take pity on the poor woman, he realised that she was just like Mrs. Weasley - a middle aged woman whom had had to confront too many changes in too short a time. He was trying to work out a way to say something reassuring to her when he had a brainwave. Because Harry had attended far more Muggle schooling than the average witch or wizard had, he was consequently much better at maths - there was a surprising amount of the kids at school who he knew struggled with their times tables, and that was just for starters. But Madam Malkin being a shopkeeper ... that just might be the way to reach her.

“Yes you’re right, there’ll be another next year and probably the year after and so on. When I talked to Professor McGonagall about it, she told me that there is one goblin student selected most years, but not every year. She said that over twenty years, say, there might be 18 or 19 goblins who had enough magical ability to go to Hogwarts. But in the same time there would be, let’s see: about forty or so humans a year; two fours are eight; so about eight hundred human wizards and witches.”

He could see the numbers sinking in. Yes, Madam Malkin would be good with numbers - both from having to take correct measurements in making dresses and from the business side of having to manage the accounts. He could see that the disparity in numbers between goblin and human wizards was making an impact on her.

“So in my lifetime there might be forty or so, maybe even sixty or more - if I live that long,” he said with a smile.

She smiled back at him, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes, she was caught up in thinking over his words. But then she came back to herself and smiled at him genuinely. “Nearly finished Mr. … I mean Harry, nearly done.” All the while he’d been talking the tape had kept up its measuring and now it finally rolled itself up and dropped lifeless into Madam Malkin’s hand. “I’ve a few robes in your size and it won’t take long to have one that will compliment your partner’s selected dress.”

She drew herself to her feet and Harry offered her a gentlemanly hand, which she took with gratitude.

“Now you heard the girls, they don’t want you round anymore. Go and get out of here - go and have a look at the latest Firesweep or Thunderbolt - but be back outside in an hour or so. No peeking in before then, understand?”

And with those words the boys were chased unceremoniously from the shop - their presence obviously not required any further.

* * *

**  
Well, it is finally here. I have to again thank my beta, Pixileanin, who not only did a sterling job with my punctuation and grammar, but also supplied a wonderful title when I was bereft of ideas.  
**


	9. Chapter 8: The Goblin Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all troop off to the long awaited goblin dinner and are led to dinner, each with a goblin partner.

**Note: If I was writing about Barry and his best mates, Roam going to a Goblin Dinner with their girlfriends, Jenny and Harmonium, and talking with the goblins Truearm and Slimshanks, well then it would all be mine I tells ya, all mine BWHA HA HA !**

wait a sec ... Truearm and Slimshanks are mine, all mine, BWHA HA HA!! 

... but, as to the rest, as you will no-doubt actually recognise their names, all I am doing is playing in the sandbox of a very rich woman and she allows this because of her tolerance and generosity of spirit.

* * *

Chapter 8: The Goblin Feast

 

When Harry and Ron got back to the dress shop, the girls and Mrs. Weasley had just finished. They left the shop only to have an owl swoop down and let go a message that tumbled down into the hands of Mrs. Weasley. She opened it up and looked tickled pink as she read it.

“I was thinking of it before, but this settles it. Harry would you mind awfully if we stay the night at your place?” Mrs. Weasley asked him.

“Of course, my place is your place, Mrs. Weasley.”

“That's nice, but I don't want to intrude.”

Harry knew she was only being polite, but he really wanted to get his message across. So with a serious expression he said, “No, I mean it Mrs. Weasley. Treat it like your own home, come when you like, if you want to stay, stay as long as you like.”

Mrs. Weasley looked at him with her head cocked slightly to one side, and her hand on his upper arm. “Thank you Harry.”

She turned to the others. “You should all stay there too. It’s closer and more convenient for Diagon Alley and Gringotts than The Burrow. And because you're all of age, except for Ginny but you’re close, so I know you might want to drink.” She held up a hand and didn’t quite look at them to forestall anyone interrupting her, but speaking was the last thing any of them wanted to do. “You might have already started drinking, I don't want to know.” She then looked back up at them. “All I know is that you can start now and I can't stop it. But the whole reason why I say this is that magical transportation becomes quite unreliable when you are drunk.”

Both Ron and Ginny let out a, ‘Mum!’ in exasperation.

“You may ‘Mum’ me, but I've seen the Muggle signs saying not to drink and drive. Well the same goes for flooing. When you slur your destination you could end up anywhere. Don't get me started on apparating drunk.”

“Don't roll your eyes at me little Miss Ginevra Weasley, you'll come of age at Hogwarts this year, and I've heard about some of the things they get up to at those wild after hours parties.”

Harry had had no experience of any such thing and was fairly sure that Hermione and Ron hadn't either. He and Hermione were silent in the face of Mrs Weasley's tirade, but Ron spoke up.

“You're talking nonsense Mum. There's no such things as ‘wild after hours parties’ at Hogwarts, no matter what Witch Weekly says. Harry and Hermione and me have never gone to one and I'm sure Ginny hasn't either.”

Harry was looking at Ginny as Ron said his piece and he saw a peculiar expression come over her face that made him wonder if Ginny didn't know something that the rest of them didn't. He would have to ask her later, and luckily for her, no one else saw her reaction except for him.

“Well anyway, be that as it may be, Grimmauld place is conveniently located for Muggle transport back from Gringotts, so that's where we'll stay.”

“But what about you Mum?” Ron asked, “Why do you need to stay there too?”

“Your father has got us tickets to a West End show, so we're going out on the town for a show and a nice dinner too.”

\--o-O-o--

Harry and Ron went back to Grimmauld place with the new clothes, while all the girls went back to the burrow for their makeup and other ‘getting ready stuff.’ When the girls appeared later in the fireplace of Grimmauld Place, the boys found that Hermione had considerately, packed an overnight bag for Ron and brought Harry's backpack.

The boys then became aware, to their amusement and a little horror, that the girls now needed every moment until they left to get ready. Harry and Ron were given strict times when they could have a shave and a shower and use the bathroom, but for the rest … they were told in no uncertain terms to stay out of the way.

For the rest of the afternoon, they wandered around the house aimlessly. Ron even got a few Z's in while Harry tried to read a book over his snoring. Eventually, having had their showers in the allotted time, they got dressed themselves and joined Mr. Weasley in the kitchen. He had donned his dress robes, having received an owl from Mrs. Weasley to come straight from work to Grimmauld Place, and was looking quite good himself. 

While they were waiting, Ron asked his Dad, “How come you've got these tickets, aren't they really expensive?”

“No, um, well yes they are, normally, but they were given to me. It's like I said last night, I'm constantly going and helping out everywhere and anywhere. In this case, I had to help out the witch who is the stage manager for the show we’ll be seeing tonight. How else do you think some of those shows change their sets so much, if it's without magic?” He looked expectedly at the boys then grinned and changed his tune, “Well actually a lot do. She only uses a bit of magic for some of the tricky stuff, and she’d charmed a certain piece of the set too many times. It ended up chasing the cast around the theatre. The Obliviators had to be called in for the Muggles in the cast, and I came in to help restore the set to how it should be. Of course not all of it’s done with magic you know, she showed me the wires and pulleys and,” his eyes got an almost messianic gleam as he looked down at the boys seated at the table, “have you boys ever heard of servo motors?”

They were saved from Mr. Weasley's talk of Muggle theatre equipment by Mrs. Weasley’s disembodied voice from somewhere out of sight on the second floor.

“Boys are you there, are you ready?”

Well, Ron was saved, but Harry had been quite enjoying the talk of the Theatre, because he realised, what with all they’d been through the last year, it had been ages since he'd seen a movie or TV even.

 

“We’re all here, Molly dear,” her husband shouted when they had reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Ok then, here we come.”

Out onto the landing walked Ginny, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley dressed in their finery. There was a moment's silence as the men took in the sight and then they all burst into appreciation at once: “wow”; “you look beautiful”; “amazing, simply amazing.” The girls were delighted. Ginny did a bit of a twirl, showing off her dress, Hermione did a courtesy and Mrs Weasley just nodded at her husband with a big grin on her face.

“Well, shall we go then?” asked Mrs. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley bowed. “Your carriage awaits, madam.”

He’d told the boys earlier, that the production he helped out had sent a car for them - a ‘lima-zine’ - and it would apparently seat all of them, like a ministry car. ‘I wonder how the Muggles do it?’ he’d said aloud. Harry didn’t have the heart to tell him, because he’d find out soon enough, that the Muggles just made it longer.

The girls started to move but Mrs. Weasley called them back. “No girls,” and she actually giggled, “Let’s do it like we was posh or were in a play ourselves.”

And Harry saw that she was allowing herself to be happy. She’d had meagre opportunities to simply forget her woes and enjoy herself, but here and now she was giving herself over to the sheer joy of the moment. Her son and daughter and their partners were being feted by the goblins and she and her husband were going off to the theatre like normal people.

“It's Harry's house, so you go first Ginny.”

Harry moved to the foot of the stairs. His girlfriend had chosen elegance, rather than something skimpy or overly sexy. The dress wasn’t the garish pink of the horrible one he’d seen back in Madam Malkin’s. The pink was almost a white and the light cotton of the top - that came up to her neck and had sleeves down to her wrists - changed into some sort of shimmering fabric for the dress that reached to the floor. He held out his arm and with a beaming smile she held onto him as they moved from the foot of the stairs and looked back up to the landing. 

Hermione looked astonishing in a black silken gown. Harry didn’t know if it was actually silk or not, but it had a sheen to it that caught the light dramatically. It came to Hermione’s neck in the front, but cut down behind in a sharp V to the small of her back. Like Ginny’s, it had full sleeves as well but it was longer, with a train that swept the stairs behind her. Ginny had left her hair basically the same, but not Hermione. She had tamed her frizzy curls and swept the whole mass of her hair back. It was sleek, and sophisticated and, not that the boys could see, held tightly together with scores of bobby pins. Ron took her hand and leant down to her and whispered something in her ear that made her face light up in joy. It made Harry smile too and he squeezed Ginny’s hand as he turned to look at his own charming companion. The radiant smile had never really left her face and she squeezed his hand in return.

Ron led Hermione away from the foot of the stairs and his father took over the position.

Mrs. Weasley wore the same dress from Bill and Fleur’s wedding. She held herself regally, like a Duchess or the Queen, as she slowly descended towards her husband. Mr. Weasley held out his arm to her, but she pretended to barely deign to notice it. With her head held high she walked forwards and in a posh voice said, “Well? Shall we depart?”

\--o-O-o--

The limo dropped the four of them off outside the Leaky Cauldron, then whisked Mr. and Mrs. Weasley away to the West End. It was still light, and would be for several hours yet as they walked the length of Diagon Alley. The tops of the buildings that framed the street glowed in the late afternoon sun.

In the morning, when they had visited Madam Malkin's, the street had had an air of being run down. But now, the lengthening shadows and lack of people cast a perceptible pall across the street, that made the scene even worse this late in the afternoon. Abandoned shops that had been unobserved amongst the distractions of the daytime bustle, now lay bare for all to see; several shops had been boarded up and one even lay open and ransacked.

It was a depressing sight, but their attention was drawn to the light spilling out of the open doors of Gringotts.

A red carpet had been unrolled and laid upon the steps leading up to the two doors; which were still wide open, even at this late hour of the day. Goblins, smartly dressed in the red livery of Gringotts, were stationed at various points along the side of the carpet: a pair at street level, another two at the head of the steps, two at the doors, and Harry could just see the tops of heads of at least another two inside the building itself.

Bill and Fleur met them at the bottom of stairs and greeted them warmly. Harry indicated for Bill to go ahead of him, as he was there first. But Bill shook his head. “You have to go first. You're the man of the hour, Harry.”

As Harry and Ginny came abreast of the first two goblins, both bowed to him and said, “Smith Potter.” This was repeated by the others at the top of the stairs and by the goblins at the doors. Inside, the goblin stationed on the right of the carpet straightened up without looking at him, and in a voice which could be heard the length of the main room, said, “Harry Potter, second Smith of the Strongarm tribe of the Deep Delvers Clan, and Miss Genevra Weasley.”

Harry couldn't help but notice a group of goblins at the far end of the room who were all looking his way. A fair number of them had normal smart business suits that he'd seen before when he’d visited the bank. The others though ... some were in overalls and a couple wore smocks and other garments that looked to Harry like working clothes. Except it was the best looking working gear that Harry had ever seen; tailor-fitted to perfection.

Harry's attention was drawn away from the strange group by the approach of Truearm in a crisply pressed white shirt and good pants, carrying his ceremonial hammer. But like two of the others in the farther group, he wore a leather apron. Harry suddenly realised that this must be the uniform of a Smith.

He moved his hammer into his left hand and reached his right out to Ginny. “Welcome to Gringotts, Harry. And this must be the estimable Miss Weasley. I do so hope you can forgive my forwardness, but may I address you by your given name?”

If Ginny was put out or feeling overwhelmed, she didn't show it. Her face lit up in a winsome smile as she leant down slightly to offer Truearm her hand. “Certainly, as long as I can call you Truearm.” Her grace and poise, in a situation Harry was sure she'd never been in before, almost made him fall in love with her all over again.

“Thank you Ginny, you are most gracious. If you will do me the honour and consent to be my partner for this evening's festivities?”

With a nod she took hold of the arm that he proffered. She glanced back at Harry with a smile on her face and a quirked eyebrow and allowed herself to be led to the side by Truearm.

A small tug on Harry’s arm brought his attention towards Lightsthefire, who was standing beside him.

“Are you my partner tonight?” he asked.

Before she had little chance to do anything but nod in response, the voice of the goblin at the doors said, “Mr Ronald Bilious Weasley and Miss Hermione Jean Granger.”

Harry was drawn to the side by another light tug on his sleeve from Lightsthefire. Slimshanks came forward. “Miss Granger, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Slimshanks and I represent the Combined Clans of London and the South East and am Clan Lord of the Deeper Delvers. Would you consent to be my partner for this evening?”

Hermione graciously accepted, but Harry's attention was diverted from Hermione by the voice of the goblin intended to partner with Ron. He recognised it, of course, from a few days ago, when he had first met Lightsthefire. The voice belonged to that goblin girl who couldn’t keep[ her fingers out of the soup.

“Right pleased to meet’cha. My name’s Singsosweetly. You’re Ron Weasley ain't ya?” She took the outstretched hand of Ron and vigorously shook it. “Ain’t it grand. Gringotts, I mean. I ‘ardly never come up here. You been here before? Oh, ‘course you have, what am I saying. You destroyed ‘alf the place when you rode the dragon out of the Vault’s didn’t ya? Bet that was great! My mate Lightsthefire - she's going to be the witch don'tcha know - she said it sounded scary, but riding a dragon is something I'd love to do.”

“Singsosweetly!” Slimshanks scolded her.

Singsosweetly looked contrite for barely a moment and in a stage whisper (which was hardly quieter than her normal speaking voice) said, “I ‘ave to watch my P’s and Q’s, don’tcha know, so I’ll button my lip. Anyway ‘ere’s the other wizards now. It's your brother isn't it?”

Harry looked down to Lightsthefire and they both shared an amused look over the antics of Singsosweetly. The Goblin at the door announced, “Mr. Bill Weasley and Mrs. Fleur Weasley ne. Delacroix.”

It was Sharpedge who approached Fleur. “Sharpedge at your service, Madame.” He bowed deeply to her. “May I accompany you to dinner?” He held out his arm for her to take.

“Certainment.” She replied, her lovely voice filling the space. Holding the arm of Sharpedge, she allowed herself to be led forward. Behind her, Bill was the last to be approached, this time by Tendsthehearth.

“Who might you be?” Bill asked her politely. “I don't believe I've had the pleasure.”

She curtsied back. “Tendsthehearth sir, and I'm to accompany you if you don't mind.”

Behind him, Harry heard Singsosweetly say, “Oh blast, forgot to curtsey.”

Ron said, “Don't worry on my account, I didn't bow myself, did I?”

“Yeah right,” she agreed with a smile. “That’s proper manners, init? To do as your guests do.”

Harry watched the bemused grin spread across his friend’s face and he could tell this little Goblin girl, who couldn't keep her mouth shut, was beginning to grow on him.

If Slimshanks heard the gentle barb sent his way, then he chose to ignore it. He lifted his chin in a sort of reverse nod towards the back of the room. Harry followed his gaze and saw one of the attendants stationed by the back doors respond. A faint, ‘this way, your honors,’ drifted the length of the room as he and another attendant ushered all of the assembled goblins through the door to the tunnel carts.

Harry remembered what Truearm had said yesterday, that it was to be a meeting of the clans tonight. So these must be the Clan heads, Harry reckoned, and all the different ways they were dressed must be something like ceremonial uniforms.

“Shall we?” asked Truearm to the group. He offered his arm once again to Ginny and started down the length of the large room, leaving the others to follow behind.

They were bowed into the tunnel cart room by the attendant goblins at the door. A cart just left the room as they entered, leaving only a handful of the goblin VIP’s behind. As he watched it was immediately replaced by a couple of carts, joined together in a train, which came from the opposite side to the ones that just exited. They weren't the usual carts either, these were far more ornate and painted with different symbols and colours.

The remaining Clan leaders hopped into the carts. Two of the ones dressed in business suits got into a cart with three golden circles arranged in a triangle on its side. It was an obvious guess that these must be from a banking clan: the golden circles had to represent galleons, or money at least. The rest jumped into the last two carts. From the overall’s they wore and the sign painted on the side - crossed pickaxes - Harry guessed they must be miners.

The carts sped off, and in their place another three carts arrived. Truearm and Ginny with Harry and Lightsthefire were ushered into the first cart in the train. It had a hammer painted on the side, a match in profile to the hammer that Truearm carried.

Slimshanks with Hermione and Ron with Singsosweetly were in the next one which had ornate trimmings of gold. But the design painted upon the side was simple; it was nothing more than a broad horizontal line with a circle underneath, painted red on black.

The next in line was festooned with gilt with a big golden G on its side that matched the gilded trimmings. Once Fleur and Sharpedge with Bill and Tendsthehearth were seated in it, a clank and a jump jolted them all and the carts started forward.

The progression through the tunnels was even more sedate today than when Harry came here last time. As they rolled through the caverns and tunnels, Truearm kept up his conversation with Ginny; pointing things out to her and she was asking questions of her own. They were so pleasantly engaged in conversation, that Harry did not want to intrude upon it.

Behind him, Singsosweetly had kept up a continuous chatter of her own and only needed the occasional prompting and responses from Ron to keep her going. A snippet of their conversation drifted forward to Harry, and he couldn't help but smile.

“Yeah, been workin’ like tunnel rats, all night and morning. Been busy myself in the kitchens, mainly, but I ‘ad to do a run and I saw ‘em fixing up the carts. Yer know, they're just normal ones all painted up nice and this stuff - all the gold – see, it’s just stuck on.”

Harry turned around to see Singsosweetly lifting up one end of the golden trimming. Ron was next to her grinning widely and enjoying every minute of the conversation. But poor Slimshanks wore the most world-weary expression, rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh. He caught Harry’s eye and shook his head with a ‘what can you do’ sort of expression on his face.

That's when Harry realised, truly realised, that they were all just people: humans and goblins. He lost all his prejudice then, not that he had that much to begin with, and resolved to treat his newfound status as seriously as they obviously did. Now all he had to do was to find out exactly what it all meant.

Soon they were at the Great Cavern and swinging out into the artificial daylight of it. Harry felt a small movement next to him and looked down at Lightsthefire. She was shaking, and it wasn't just from the motion of the carts.

“Hey, what's up?”

She looked at him with wide eyes and just shook her head; not trusting herself to speak.

“It's ok. I'll be with you every step of the way, alright?” Harry comforted her.

She swallowed, closed her eyes and nodded. Harry felt a hand snake into his own.

Harry had been hearing a voice, but it wasn’t really loud enough to distinguish individual words until they were halfway down the cavern. The words of the speaker weren’t intelligible till they got to the bottom.

“Horgast of the Northern Aligned Banking Clans.”

As their carts reached the bottom Harry could see the train of carts that had preceded his were unloading their passengers. The bankers he had obviously guessed correctly and had just gotten off and been announced. The miners, as he had assumed, were next.

“Solidgranite of the Rock Breakers Clan.” They got off, and the last few stood up in the final cart.

“Brakesrocksmightly of the Rock Splitters Clan.” Judging the name, the head of that clan must have been a woman, but looking at the craggy, weather-beaten features he couldn't pick which goblin was the leader until she nodded her head at the crowd and went to take a seat.

As Harry had descended, he’d noticed that the floor of the cavern was remarkably different from when he’d been here last. ‘Wow,’ he thought, ‘had it been only yesterday morning?’ A lot certainly been changed to the floor of the Great Cavern. Gone were all the stores and shops. Harry found out later that the shells of the stores were all demountable and most were only put up on Market days. In their place were rows and rows of tables with literally hundreds of goblins sitting at them.

The carts had pulled to a stop at one end of the lozenge shaped floor space. In front of the crowded lines of tables was a semicircle of other tables. They surrounded a clear space at the head of which was a solitary, unoccupied table. Harry watched the last Goblin to be introduced, and her two attendants, take their seats at the end of the semicircle of tables. Five goblins were already seated at that table, all of them dressed in a similar manner to the attendants. Harry scanned the half circle of tables and saw all the goblins that he’d assumed were heads of their tribes and clans, were seated at them along with a score or so representatives of their respective tribes and clans. These attendants must have arrived and were seated earlier, separate from their leaders. They all faced the empty table at the end.

Truearm started to climb out of the cart and they were all announced again. Starting with Smith Truearm, Premier Smith the Island of Britain and Miss Genevra Weasley. Harry was again introduced as Smith Potter, which caused a bit of a murmur, but when the little girl beside him was introduced as Witch Lightsthefire, there was a massive stir. The quiet hubbub of the crowd doubled in volume as most of the goblins, at the tables behind those occupied by the heads of Clans, stood up for a better look.

Everyone else was introduced and, as he suspected, they were led up to the head table. All except Truearm and three other goblins all dressed as he was, with leather aprons over their clothes. They met in the space at the centre of the semicircle of tables. He held out his hammer head first in front of the other three. The other three all touched the heads of their hammers to his and held them there.

In a loud voice that carried, Truearm said, “Here we meet, leaving clan allegiances behind us, being loyal only to the greater good of Goblinkind.”

The other three in unison replied, “And hopefully stop these idiots from fighting.”

They all lowered their hammers and exchanged a few quiet words that didn't carry beyond their group and then they all left to resume their seats. Truearm walked up and sat at the table with Harry and the rest. It was Slimshanks who now stood. Harry had become so used to magic, he was initially quite surprised to see a microphone in Slimshanks hand.

“Goblins of Great Cavern East. Heads of Clans, Leaders of Tribes and your representatives. Smiths.

“Thank you all for coming here today on such short notice. What we do here tonight and decide in the days to come will alter Goblin Society forever.”

“Who knew that out of the ashes of the recent wizard conflict, would rise such an amazing opportunity for our people. The rumours you have no doubt heard are true. The first ever goblin will be allowed to attend the wizard school of Hogwarts and allowed to study wand magic.”

He paused at the cheering and applause from the crowd. He waved his left arm towards Lightsthefire to indicate her to the crowd. She drew in a deep breath and began to stand, but before she did, she grasped Harry's hand. He tightened his grip reassuringly upon her own as she stood. Their clasped hands were concealed under the table, but nothing else of her bearing or manner indicated any of the nervousness that she felt. She acknowledged Slimshanks with a nod then turned and bowed to Truearm on the other side of Harry. Straightening up she gave the deepest bow yet to be assembled goblins in front of her. It took the cheers and applause a while to die down even after she seated herself.

So that no one in front of her would see or hear, Harry addressed Lightsthefire out of the corner of his mouth. “That proves it, Gryffindor for sure.”

Lightsthefire had assumed a serene sort of smile as she had bowed to her audience, but now Harry saw it touch her eyes. She gave his hand another squeeze and released it.

Harry caught movement to his right from Slimshanks. He was nodding to somebody behind Harry and began to talk over the noise of the crowd. “There is more to talk about tonight as well as on the morrow, but there is one thing I have to tell you all. A good politician should always know when to step aside and I shall do so now.”

Harry could see the confusion that he felt, reflected upon the faces of the goblins on the tables in front him. Slimshanks had only paused for a dramatic effect because he added, “Yes I'll step aside, but only for the food because it is ready.”

There was laughter at this, as goblins bearing great trays of food made their way to the tables in front first and then to those behind. He sat down to general laughter and they all began to eat.

* * *

**Author’s Note:**

**I‘M so sorry about the delay in posting this chapter, my beta - the remarkable Pixilanin - and I have been editing the chapters to come and I forgot that this one had yet to be published. Looking at the comments, Pix had finished with it back in May - May for heaven's sake. I was actually set to post the next one and realised that there was a chapter missing between it and what had been posted.**

**Thank you all for your patience. Hopefully the posting will be a bit more regular, now that I have caught up with Pride and Scorpius a bit more, and that I have more finished chapters up my sleeve (so to speak).**

**Any comments are more than welcome, and everyone shall be replied to eventually.**


	10. Chapter 9:  Politicians and Smiths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The goblin feast concludes with some words from the master goblin politician, Slimshanks.

**Note: If I was writing about Barry at a Goblin Dinner with Roan, Jenny and Harmonium, and listening to Slimshanks, well then it would all be mine I tells ya, all mine BWHA HA HA !**

wait a sec ... Slimshanks is mine, all mine, BWHA HA HA!! 

... but, as to the rest, as you will no-doubt actually recognise their names, all I am doing is playing in the sandbox of a very rich woman and she allows this because of her tolerance and generosity of spirit.

* * *

Chapter 9: Politicians and Smiths

 

Ginny sat at the very end of the table with Truearm right beside her, both of them chatting away like they'd known each other for years. Ron was next, and in between himself and Harry was Lightsthefire. On Harry's right was Hermione, then Slimshanks with Tendsthehearth, Bill and Fleur, and finally Sharpedge at the very end.

They had not been joined by Singsosweetly. She had excused herself before they’d even sat down. “Nah can't stay. Being introduced like a toff was good enough for me. I'm needed in the kitchen; good for nothing ‘cept cooking, that's me.”

“I knew there was a reason we got along so well,” said Ron, “because all I'm good for is eating.”

Singsosweetly halted her movement towards the kitchens and rounded back to the table. “So you like your food then?” 

“Yep.”

“Good, standard, normal food?”

“Yep, it’s the best.”

“Well you're in for a treat tonight,” said Singsosweetly, “You’ll want to try out our Toad-in-the-’ole. Promise ya, you’ll not be disappointed.” With a final wave, she had headed off to the kitchens

 

\--o-O-o—

 

Harry tucked in. The food was good, every bit as good as Singsosweetly had intimated. The rich aromas coming from the plates in front of him, and wafting from those that were carried past them, were enough to tell him as much. But when they actually tasted the dishes, Harry found them to be as good as anything that he’d ever had before. If, every now and then, Harry found some meat that he couldn’t quite place, well he usually just ignored it and carried on; assuming, as he was, that the goblins weren’t out to deliberately poison him. His acceptance had its bounds though, and he did tend to avoid the stews. Ron just ate and ate like he’d never eaten before. 

Harry ate but also listened in to the conversations around him. Ron didn’t talk much, too busy eating, and Lightsthefire sat in silence. Harry had tried to draw her into conversation, but she politely shut him down. “Please forgive me Harry, but I don't feel like talking much.” Ginny and Truearm were talking together and were at just enough of a remove that Harry could only catch snippets of their conversation.

So it was the conversation between Hermione and Slimshanks that he mainly heard. It was largely about politics and what was going to happen with the goblins and wizards in the years to come. Some of it was the stuff that he’d discussed with Hermione before he’d come to Gringotts and she and Slimshanks expanded upon it and mulled over some of the future ramifications.

He almost tuned the whole thing out, until Hermione said, “So what are you going to do about your secret?”

Slimshanks narrowed his eyes. “What secret?”

“About how to make Goblin Made items, of course.”

Slimshanks relaxed. Everyone knew that was the secret of the goblins, but he stiffened considerably when she continued speaking.

“And also, because they’re so rare, the fact that they can only be made by certain people or that they're very hard to make. The Smiths seem to be the likely candidates, if I had to guess. One, because you call them Smiths, and Smiths make things. Two, because there are only the four of them here.”

Slimshanks sat rigidly in his seat and directed an angry gaze at Harry. “I didn't think Mr. Potter so inconstant that he would spill our secrets after only a day.”

Harry tried to protest, but was stopped from an immediate reply by a mouthful food and also by Hermione. She swung around in her seat, nearly clapping her hands in delight. “Harry did you work it out too? Was it the galleons that made you realise it, or was it the horcruxes?” She didn't wait for a response from Harry because she suddenly realised what Slimshanks had said and the tone in which he’d said it. “Oh no,” she said in consternation swivelling back around to address the goblin again. “Harry didn’t tell. I worked it out for myself. Please believe me.”

Slimshanks looked a bit mollified, but still doubtful. “If you did so, then why have you not revealed it?”

Hermione looked like the answer was obvious. “Because it wasn't my secret to tell, of course.”

Slimshanks looked astounded. Though it rang true to Harry. He suddenly remembered in third year, that glorious year that they’d had Moony for DADA. Hermione had worked out, fairly early on, that Moony was a werewolf. She’d only revealed his secret when she thought that he had turned evil.

Hermione continued on. “I bet other people know too but haven’t said. I'd be surprised if someone like Bill - as important a wizard in your organisation as he is - wouldn't know.”

Slimshanks turned an astonished face in his direction. “Did you know?”

Harry craned around Hermione to catch Bill’s reaction. He’d frozen with a glass halfway to his mouth. Harry could see that he was caught out, but he must have come to the realisation that now was the time to tell. He set down his glass with a sigh. “Of course I do. Like Hermione said, I would be highly surprised if most the Wizards high up in your organisation, didn't know. Or should I say,” he correct himself, waving a hand past Slimshanks to indicate Lightsthefire, “the human wizards in your organisation. It doesn't take long to notice. After a few years with you, you soon realise that there is another hierarchy that has to be reported to. You goblins don't mention it overtly, but every now and then you'll catch someone who will let it slip, who will unguardedly say Smith. With that and how rare I know Goblin made items are, it doesn't take much to link the two together.”

Harry couldn't see Slimshanks’ face, but he heard the astonishment in his voice when he asked Bill. “Why haven't you said anything? To use it against us?”

“Well if you won't believe the same altruistic motive Hermione has, that it's not my secret to tell – which is my main reason - then believe a self-serving one. You are my employers: you play well, you’re good bosses and you respect me. Why would I tell, let alone use it against you, and risk what I have here?”

“Besides, if we are being entirely truthful, I know the history of our two people and I know the way that you deal.” He forestalled any immediate negative comment by holding up a hand placatingly. “Not dishonourably, I didn’t mean to imply that, but scrupulously to the letter of the contract. If someone was foolish enough to try and exploit you or blackmail you … well, I wouldn't do so if I didn't have several air-tight clauses in the contract as to my continued health and safety.”

Slimshanks could only nod. He was obviously contemplating all that had been said to him; trying to digest their words as he made a somewhat desultory attack upon the food in front of him. Bill went back to his own conversation with his wife who had been engaging the usually taciturn Sharpedge and drawing out information about his interesting life.

Hermione returned to eating too, but was continually glancing at Slimshanks, worried that she’d upset him. Harry could tell from his years of friendship with her that there was also something else on her mind that she was wanting to talk to the goblin about. But she left it for a bit, taking the pause to finish some of the wonderful food in front of them.

The same food that Ron was waxing lyrical over. The toad-in-the-hole was every bit as good as advertised and as he was praising it, some of the kitchen staff just happened to be behind him. Harry hadn’t seen her arrive, but he immediately recognised Stampofiron. He gave her a friendly smile, but she didn’t return it, as focused upon Ron as she was. “So you like it then?” she couldn't help but ask.

“Oh yeah,” Ron said through half a mouthful of food. As he turned to her he swallowed. “It's delicious, and I’ve had either my mum's - and she's a great cook - or the House-elves of Hogwart’s cooking for years, and I've never had a toad-in-the-hole to rival this one. That Singsosweetly told me to look out for it and she was right. The top crust is so crispy but the inside so soft it's like eating … eating clouds.” He said with a laugh, “and yet all the sausages are perfectly cooked. Amazing. My whole hearted compliments to the genius who cooked this.”

The way she reacted and yes, Harry could see, the slight blush that came to her cheeks said, in no uncertain terms, that here before them stood the Goblin responsible for the dish.

“It was you.” Ron said, almost unnecessarily. “Thank you so much. I meant every word I said. All the food's been great, but that toad-in-the-hole was unbelievable.”

“Thank you Mr. Weasley.” She bowed to him, but a runner from the kitchen came up behind her and whispered something into her ear. She made her apologies, excused herself and left.

They all returned to their food. Ron, with a look at Harry, said, “These goblins sure can cook can't they?”

It was a rhetorical question and Harry only nodded back. He couldn’t talk at that moment anyway, as his mouth was full of that self-same delicious food. Harry dug into it with enjoyment, mentally agreeing with Ron’s assessment of the toad-in-the-hole. He ate away, and the next interruption came from Hermione beside him.

“You know there's something else you could do,” she burst out with. 

The goblin paused, with a fork full of food halfway to his mouth. He cocked an eyebrow to Hermione for her to continue. The way he did so, Harry wondered, how much he had still been contemplating Hermione and Bill’s words and how much he’d been simply enjoying the wonderful food.

Hermione said, “I've been thinking a lot about what you could do, and I had an idea. You could always,” and she leaned down to whisper something into his ear. Whatever it was his mouth dropped open in surprise and his cutlery hit his plate with a loud clang and rattled to a stop.

Hermione pulled back in surprise herself, hoping she hadn't offended him. “It's just an idea. I mean there’s no law against it as long as you don't make a big deal of it.”

“Excuse me.” Slimshanks said abruptly and just as abruptly scraped his chair back and stood up. He hastened around the table to Truearm and Ginny, and with the barest of apologies to either of them, broke into their conversation by bending down and whispering to Truearm.

It was now the turn of Truearm to be astonished at whatever it was that Slimshanks had related from Hermione. But instead of dropping his cutlery to the tabletop he grinned. “I told you that you might find something of interest in what Miss Granger had to say.

Slimshanks came back to his seat and retook it. “Thank you Miss Granger. You have said much to me tonight of value and I know that you helped Mr. Potter in his preparations when he came to us with his proposal.”

Harry heard a noise from the other side of him and turned around only to see Ron’s head quickly jerk back to a stop looking over his meal. It was like he’d been listening in and didn't want it to seem like he had.

Slimshanks was still talking and Harry turned back to catch the rest of what he had to say. “If you will excuse me though, Miss Granger, I have to compose what I must say to the Clan heads. If you do come up with anything else remarkable please bring it to my attention, but otherwise if you don't mind leaving me in peace for a few minutes.” He looked at his watch. “Actually about twenty minutes, because that's when I'll start.

 _“Good,”_ Harry thought, as it gave him enough time to go to the loo. He asked Slimshanks where it was and Slimshanks turned around, held up an arm and clicked his fingers. A server ran up to him. “Please show Mr. Potter to the facilities.”

“This way, sir.” The goblin bowed to Harry and led him back to the cavern wall, through one of the massive doorways and it was right inside.

“Thanks,” Harry said. “There's no need to wait. I'll find my own way back.”

The goblin bowed again and scooted off.

When Harry had finished and went to make his way back out of the doorway he almost bumped into Stampofiron.

“Oh hello,” Harry said, causing her to jump.

“You scared the shit out of me. I mean,” shaking her head and looking furtively around, “scared the hell out of me.” She gave him a weary look. “With all of this,” she waved her arm around to encompass the crowd they could see through the open doorway, “I’ve had to watch my language. It's probably the hardest thing I’ve had to do and that's taking into account arranging a meal for four hundred in one f-bloody day.”

“The food’s been nice and there seems enough of it.” Harry said, trying to make her feel a bit better.

“Yes you're right,” she agreed, “and it's all gone off pretty good too. The southern kitchens have pulled their weight surprisingly well. I’ve changed my opinion of them quite a bit, I'll tell you. A lot of it's because some of the old,” she was about to swear and caught herself, “the old harridans who ran the kitchens there are gone and the younger girls who’ve replaced them are not unpleasant to work with. Oh, except for Seesindarkness. That old rock grinder will probably keep working even after she's dead.”

As they were talking, they made their way back along the cavern wall.

“So all of that aside, it’s been ok, but to make my life hell, the reason I can't swear is that the Grandmothers have turned up, haven’t they, and invaded my kitchen.”

“Grandmothers?” Harry asked in confusion, thinking of just older female goblins and why wouldn't they be out here enjoying the meal with the rest?

“If you’re picturing a gaggle of interfering old busy bodies, then you wouldn't be far wrong, but they're more than that. It’s another bit of our culture that you don’t know about, not many wizards do.”

“So, the Grandmothers.” She paused, choosing her words, “Well, they’re not just grandmothers, though they are usually that as well, but they’re more ... like Smiths and, I suppose, now like witches. They are born to it. You can't teach someone the important part of what they can do. Part of their … um, function, I suppose you’d say, is to preserve some of the ancient lore of the goblins, and any wizards who do know of their existence, that’s what they think their main purpose is. But the reason why the Grandmothers are ‘Grandmothers’,” she threw up air quotes around the second ‘Grandmother’, “and not all grandmothers are, is that they have the ability to read a person’s soul.”

“Nah, I’m saying it wrong. It’s not exactly read - they can‘t read your mind or anything like that - but they can see the shape of your soul, your character, the bounds of what you are as a person. They are the ones who find the Smiths - those goblins whose souls are so large they are capable of sharing it.”

“That's why they are here tonight, to officially confer the title of Smith on you.”

With that, they arrived back at the table.

Slimshanks said, “Good. Back in time so that I can talk.”

Stampofiron sighed. “That's my cue. Better go back and see what those bit-*, I mean, bunch of old women have been up to in my kitchen and shoo the lot of them out here.”

Harry sat as Slimshanks stood, microphone in his hands. “Well here we all are.” His amplified voice rang out over the crowd. The general background noise of the crowd had quietened slightly and he gave it a chance to do so even more before he continued speaking. “I'll say what I have to while most of you are still eating – that way your mouths being full of food, you might not all talk so much.”

The noise of the crowd rose, as they voiced their ‘displeasure’ and they stamped their feet and banged their cutlery upon the tables. Harry began to realise some of the differences between goblin and human politics, especially as Slimshanks continued.

“Before I say anything else, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the cooking staff of Great Cavern East and especially Kitchen Four, who took a leading hand in the proceedings. I'd also like to thank the cooks from the southern Kitchens as well: it shows us all that we can put our differences aside when it is in the best interests of goblin kind to do so.” There was applause at his words, and quite a few of the servers took their bows.

“The real meeting is to come tomorrow so I shall keep my words short tonight as well as simple.” He began to talk really slowly. “So. That. The. Miners. Can. Understand. Me.”

There was general laughter and hoots of appreciation, but from the few tables that obviously held miners, the cries were of mock outrage, as they threw food and cutlery around.

“At least the Iron Helm Clan aren’t here, otherwise I’d have had to use pictures.”

It was the turn of a different table to throw food and cutlery in the face of the laughter directed at them.

“Oh, you are here,” Slimshanks said in mock surprise, “so all the invitations got through? Well, that’s surprising, that’s the first time the Messengers Tribe has been reliable all year.”

A smaller group from a middle table was now shouting out.

Slimshanks suddenly barked out, “Thousands of galleons!”

The crowd went quieter in puzzlement. Slimshanks put his hand up to his mouth, like he was theatrically trying to keep his next words from part of the audience. “At least now I know that the Bankers are paying attention.” 

The crowd started hooting and cheering again but there was no food thrown from the banker groups. Instead, through the din, one could hear the ‘Ting Ting Ting’ of cutlery striking glassware.

Slimshanks let it go on for a bit before he continued. “It is good you are all here because there will be a lot to decide over the next few days.”

The crowd had quieted down considerably, and Harry could see why Slimshanks had joked with them the way he had: having being entertained by him they were now affording him much greater attention.

“We will talk and discuss a lot of things in the days to come ... and I'm sure the discussions won't drag on at all.” There was a ripple of amusement. “But I need to broach a few subjects now, so that you will all have time to think about them. So that any of you can message your home tribes or clans if you want to, or need to, confer with them.”

“I assure you that this is not some politician’s trick; not some ruse. This is bigger than inter tribal rivalries, greater than clan politics. What we decide here in the next few days will chart the course of our people for centuries to come.”

He had the crowd now, hanging on his every word.

“The first and most important thing is to understand how rare goblin witches and wizards will be.”

“If you want the old propaganda to be true - for a force of goblins armed with wands to march upon the Wizards - then you are sure to be disappointed. It will never happen. It can never happen. There will be about one goblin witch or wizard per year. That's all.”

“To put it more accurately: in twenty years, say, we should expect 18 or 19, just under one a year. We will of course test this to see if it's true or not. We won't meekly accept the words of the humans, but it cleaves true.”

Slimshanks shook his head like he was disappointed with himself. “We should have realised that the talent for magic is as rare amongst us as it is for humans. It would have saved us a lot of tribulations over the years.”

“Why is this important?” He paused, surveying the goblins at the tables in front of him. “What if your tribe never gets a wizard?” There was an immediate hubbub as the goblins all started talking at once. Slimshanks waited for a moment then spoke over the top of them. “Worse, what if your entire Clan never gets one?”

The talking increased and Slimshanks let it, taking a moment to have a drink of water.

“The solution is obvious and simple.” Slimshanks amplified voice cut across the conversations, bringing most of them to a halt, he had their complete attention. “Like the Smiths and the Grandmothers, goblin witches and wizards should have their abilities be at the disposal of all of Goblinkind.”

“It will be so good,” he quickly went on, not giving anyone a chance to become distracted or to talk, “not to have to go begging to the wizards for the spell work we need. To be told what spells we are allowed to have and allowed to use. To have to pay whatever the wizards want because we have no other choice.”

“Listen to me, I'm saying wizard, but we have to stop thinking like that. Wizard and human is not synonymous anymore.” He said sounding disgusted with himself for making the slip. But Harry knew that Bill had said as much to Slimshanks not half an hour ago. Slimshanks making this ‘mistake’ must have been done deliberately. Harry thought he could see why. It humanised him, made it seem like he was falling into the trap of the old way of thinking that his audience no doubt was. It was clever and the more Harry saw and heard Slimshanks, the more respect he had for him and his abilities.

“If we do not allow the wizards or witches of one clan to perform spells for another, then the imbalance of power will just be shifted from the wiz*, I mean humans, to ourselves. The potential for strife between the clans, between the tribes even, could be catastrophic. It could destroy - it will destroy - decades of peace; breaking ties that we have struggled to build, weakening us in the face of the humans.”

“But I'm not saying that the goblin wizards to come should sever their tribal or clan ties completely. Of course they should be compensated for any work they do; as should their tribe and their clan.” There were a few ‘hear-hears’ from the crowd. “But as to how this should this be done,” he gave an evil little chuckle that Harry thought was put on, “well, that's a matter for debate isn't it.”

The audience laughed along with him and, in that moment, Harry could see that he’d already won the debate, all that was left was to argue over the details. It was more clever work from the wily politician.

“Lest you think that I have some hidden agenda, remember that it is my Clan which has the first, and only so far, witch-to-be. It would be in my immediate interest not to have to share her abilities, or only to do so for exorbitant sums.”

He let that information sink in and took another sip of water.

“We will no doubt be talking about many things over the upcoming days and deciding a great deal, but there is one other major matter that we must consider. And that is the Great Secret that we have kept from the humans, on how to make Goblin Made items. It has just been pointed out to me, in no uncertain terms, that it is not much of a secret.”

There was an immediate and harsh reaction from the crowd. Not like before when Slimshanks had gently knocked the miners or the bankers and such. There'd been an outcry then, but anyone could see it had all been in fun. Not so now. There was an angry muttering and mutinous looks from the crowd, especially from the tribal and clan leaders at the front tables. 

Slimshanks talked over them. “You're right to be upset. When they first told me my reaction was as yours is. How dare these wizards, these humans, belittle our Great Secret. It's one of the few things that we've had on our side in the massive power imbalance between their culture and ours. It has served us well over the centuries, but ... is it time to let it go?” 

“Because I know - we all know - the main reason why it is not much of a secret is because you don't have to even guess at what it is! Anybody could work it out from what they carry around in their pockets.” While he’d been talking, he’d put his hand into his own pocket and at the last drew out a Galleon and brandished it at the goblins in front of him. “Anybody seeing the stamp of Gringotts upon the back of a Galleon, should wonder why something that is made by goblins is so different to something which is Goblin Made.’ He threw the galleon down onto the table in front of him in a dramatic manner.

“Our so-called secret, is in danger of revelation anytime a human spends one of our coins. The Bankers can tell you of the stream of humans, over the years, armed with the sudden realisation about our secret who come to us to blackmail and extort money from us.”

“So we know our secret is discovered at times by some of the humans, but we have been blinded by the worst of Humanity. We never stopped to think that we only saw those who were so venal and greedy that once they found out the secret, they only thought of personal gain. I didn't think, no one of us did, that there might be an equal number of wizards, humans, out there who discovered our secret but didn't tell it because it wasn't their secret to tell.”

There were noises of astonishment from here and there amongst the crowd. “This witch beside me did just that. Bill Weasley, whom I know that most of the banking Clans will recognise from his term of employment with us, did the same. He worked it out, he says, just from being in the bank and listening to what wasn't said. He kept our secret also because he was and he is a loyal employee.”

 

“I am not going to say that if he left us he would reveal our secret, but think, those of you who worked alongside humans, have all the humans you have served with, the same moral fibre as this man? If other humans had worked out our secret and if they were fired, would they keep silent?”

He let that sink in and Harry could see, even from this distance, quite a few of the nearer goblins looking at Bill.

“And Harry Potter.” Slimshanks said and Harry almost ducked at the sudden attention directed his way. “He discovered our secret and far from blackmailing us with it, used it to help him give us something!” He ended on such an exclamation of surprise with his hands thrown outwards. “This is why I personally think that our secret has served it's purpose. We still have much to lose if someone reveals it, but we have much to gain if we reveal it ourselves.”

“We will have years negotiations ahead of us. Seven to be exact, till our first witch graduates from Hogwarts. Once she does she will be a fully fledged witch subject to their law, but,” and his eyes gleamed as he leaned forward and clenched his hand in front of him, “she will have the same rights under their laws as well. We shall use that over the next few years to extend as much of these rights to the whole of our people as we can.”

“And it's not just up to me and our already established political structure to do this. We will need volunteers, more members from all the clans to help. If the humans think that we will be pushovers, then we will show them that the spirit of Urg the Unclean didn't die two hundred years ago. We can fight just as hard, just as strongly, just as fiercely. Our weapons will be different, instead of swords we will now be fighting with sharpened quills and even sharper intellects.”

“To all of you Clans and tribes, we will need your best for this. It is not time to pass off your dregs to us. As firmly as we will deal with the humans, we will deal even more harshly with those of our own group who are less than we need. So much of Goblin future rides on this, that we cannot fail.”

“So why do I mention this now?” He looked out over the crowd and took another sip of his water. “Well what better ammunition do we have if, at the very beginning, we reveal our secret?”

“One of the reasons we have kept it, is that they wouldn't share wandlore with us, but now that they have, we will share ours too. It will make us out as genuine, as Statesmen like, as anything but petty. The political mileage we shall gain as a result shall be immeasurable.”

“Now, some of you may be thinking, ‘why don't we hold on to it?’ Why not divulge the secret down the track, for more and greater concessions? Because this is another way in which it is not much of a secret: it doesn't matter if we hand over the secret to them because they won't be able to use it.”

He smiled a devilish smile. “I can't wait to see the look on their faces. Most wizards think that our secret is some long forgotten spell or some sort of ritual. They have no idea that the process needed for the production of Goblin Made items can only properly be done by those born as Smiths. And because they don't have any Smiths, they won't be able to use our secret at all.”

There were smiles and nods as Slimshanks allowed the audience to digest his words. Something caught his eye to the side and he nodded back in recognition. “You all have been so patiently listening to my words - something that if you told me before, I wouldn't have thought the Rocksplitters capable of.” There was roar from the crowd and as happened before, an outcry from what must be the Rocksplitters Clan. “I mean I knew I would always have the attention of the Bankers, they're still waiting for the thousands of Galleons.” The Ting Ting Ting made itself heard over the jeers of the rest of the crowd. “To reward you all for your attention and to tide you over while I finish off some other business, I have arranged for you all to have desserts and sweets too.”

There was a massive cheer from the crowd at his words and the cheering continued as servers bearing trays of sweets swept from the door behind him and out into the crowd. Slimshanks could see the confusion on Harry and Ron's faces and explained away from the microphone. “We have deserts in our culture, but the practice of having them after every meal is much rarer than in yours. Furthermore, it is also almost unheard of in gatherings like this one. I will have a lot of good will in the morning from the simple expedient of giving them a few pastries and ice cream tonight.”

“Now Harry, I will call upon you in a moment and it would be good if you would say a few words.” 

Slimshanks didn't give him any time to refuse, instead he raised the microphone again to his mouth and addressed the crowd once more. “So while I have your attention, and your mouths are once more engaged with delicious food, I have some things I still must attend to. We are all here tonight because of the efforts one man. A man who could stand outside his own kind’s unthinking prejudice and seek a way to amend them. Assembled heads of Clans, leaders of tribes, and goblins of the South, I give to you Harry Potter.”

Harry thought he’d have more time to prepare, he'd only just shoveled up a spoonful of treacle tart into his mouth and had to hastily swallow it. The desserts weren't ‘just some pastries’ as Slimshanks had said they were, no they were delicious and plentiful. Harry looked a bit regretfully at the cream that was rapidly melting upon his hot treacle tart, but stand he did, and faced the goblins.

He'd never liked speaking in front of people, but since the end of the war, he knew that he’d have to do it more in his life to come. He’d even stood in front of the entire Wizengamot to defend Draco, and now this. It was one of the biggest tests of his newfound resolve to do what he could. 

He took the microphone. “Thank you Clanlord Slimshanks,” then for good measure he added, “thank you also Smith Truearm, assembled heads of the Clans, leaders of the tribes and goblins of the South East. I am truly happy that I could do this thing for you, ending, what is it, centuries? Yeah, centuries of basically prejudice and discrimination. I said this to Slimshanks, um, I mean the Clanlord before. I just fought in a war against people of, um.”

He faltered a bit, but from beside him Hermione whispered out of the corner of the mouth, “the forces of…”

“... the forces of prejudice. And when we won,” he went on, far more confidently. “I didn't want things to just go back to how they were before. It wouldn't be right. So many people died - some of them good friends of mine - and I know that some of you lost friends and loved ones as well.” Harry suddenly remembered what Truearm had told him, “the Smith even lost his brother. Their deaths have to be for something, they just have to be. And what better thing could happen than to right a centuries-old injustice.”

Harry had a sudden thought of how much the Death Eaters would have hated what he was doing. He hadn't really thought about it that much at all and it made him smile. He tried to think of a way to express it but he couldn't. He wondered how he should finish, should he repeat the same ‘joke’ he’d made to Truearm and Slimshanks the other day - the one about how getting a goblin in to Hogwarts was an easy way to repay the damage he had done in breaking into Gringotts? He decided not to try to repeat it. Slimshanks knew how far he could push this crowd, and Harry knew that it was an approach he shouldn't try to duplicate; it might come off the wrong way if he said he got out of a debt of hundreds of thousands of gallons of damage by arranging for a single goblin to get a letter. Instead he opted for the high road.

“Certain honours and titles have been bestowed upon me, and, honestly, I don’t know what they really mean, but I’m going to try to learn and, um, to discharge my obligations under them as best I can.” He was going to stop there, but then he thought of something else and quickly added, “for the greater good of Goblinkind.”

Slimshanks stood, taking the microphone from Harry as he sat, waiting for the applause at Harry’s words to die down. “Assembled goblins, Harry Potter. Or should I say Smith Potter.” There wasn’t the reaction when he’d been first introduced, but there was more applause now. “Harry Potter is not just made Smith - how can he be without Clan or place. He is made Friend of Goblin and given full status in the Strongarm Tribe and the Deep Delvers Clan.” There was applause at this, but also a few hoots and they only increased as Slimshanks added, “Yes, my Clan now has two Smiths.” And he polished his fingernails on his lapel to the laughter from the audience.

“He is not the only one I have to reward after their recent endeavours on the behalf of the entire magical world. Mr Ronald Weasley,” Slimshanks said, motioning for him to stand, “you are now Goblin Friend and so shall your children be.”

Ron stood, looking a bit awkward, but he smiled and bowed.

“Hermione Granger,” she stood, “you are now Goblin Friend and so shall your children be.” Hermione full of poise curtseyed.

“These two, along with Smith Potter, were only barely adults, and assumed an adult’s responsibility and more. They were directly responsible for the destruction of that Gaghguh Voldemort.” Slimshanks used some word that Harry assumed must have been gobbledegook, but it sounded like him clearing his throat. He later on found out that it translated, roughly, as ‘killer who is never properly brought to justice.’

There was applause again as Ron and Hermione both bowed once more and retook their seats. When they were seated, Slimshanks turned to his right. “And Mr. Bill Weasley.” Bill stood. “You have been a loyal and faithful employee of the bank for a long time and, by your actions and behaviour, should long ago have become Goblin Friend. But your actions during the attack upon the bank by Voldemort saved many of my people. I can see some seated at tables in front of me right now, who wouldn't be alive today without your aid. As such, you and your family will attain the rank of Friend to Goblins and membership of my clan.”

Bill looked stunned. An excited Fleur leapt to her feet and kissed her husband _“mon brave.”_

“Now that's an end to my speeches.” There arose another cheer from the crowd. “The last official matter for tonight is for the Grandmothers to officially ratify the honorary title of Smith upon Harry Potter.”

Truearm stood, picking up a microphone of his own. “I thank the Clanlord Slimshanks for his wise words tonight. He has certainly given us all much to think about. Know this, he speaks true. A goblin being allowed to study wand magic has set Goblinkind down a new path. We are to be the heralds of this new age for our people. Our decisions over the coming days will chart the course our society will take. I urge you to put aside any petty inter-tribal grievances,” a wry smile came to his lips as he said, “as much as you can,” there was a ripple of amusement from his audience, “and work together for the common good of all Goblinkind.”

He placed the microphone back onto the table, during the applause of the crowd, and motioned Harry to stand with him. As Harry followed Truearm out into the middle of the cleared space, he also saw a gaggle - it was too disordered to call it a procession - of elderly female goblins converging on the same space. Shepherding them forward was a fairly nervous Stampofiron. From the tables in front of them came the other Smiths Harry had seen before. They all met in a spot in the middle of the floor and awaited the arrival of the Grandmothers.

As they approached, Harry could hear from the old lady goblins a babble of comments and conversation about everything and anything. They came abreast of them and milled around the group of Smiths. One of their number seemed to organically resolve herself out of the group and step forward. Even though she was barely four and a half feet tall, her bearing and manner instantly reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall. He knew that this was a goblin who wasn’t to be trifled with.

Truearm said to her, “We Smiths welcome you revered Grandmothers.” He bowed to her as did the other Smiths - and after a split second, Harry did too.

The leader of the grandmothers replied. “It is our duty and our pleasure to welcome a new Smith into the clan.”

But behind her the chattering went on, and Harry distinctly heard: ‘look at him isn't he getting tall,’ and, ‘I remember having to change him when he was a babe, always used to run around in the buff. Constant struggle it was to keep pants on him.’

If Truearm heard these comments, he wisely chose to ignore them. “Grandmothers, I present to you Harry Potter.”

The leader came over and curtsied to him, in a rather lackadaisical way that old ladies have. Harry bowed back in response, but then she motioned to him to stay bent over. She grasped both sides of Harry's head and looked deeply into his eyes. He was taken aback by the sudden intense gaze. It seemed to skewer him to the spot.

It went on for a long time, or so it seemed. Without letting go of his face she turned to address Stampofiron over her shoulder. “You said you thought you saw something?” Stampofiron nodded. “You were correct.” And she released Harry.

The loose group of the grandmothers suddenly turned serious. Gone were the gossiping old biddies, with the slightly irreverent attitude, as Harry found all their attention was now focused upon him. Some approached Harry to check for themselves, of those who did: some of them took his face and looked into his eyes; some touched the skin of his arm; and a couple just laid their palms against his forehead. Once each was sure for themselves, they stepped back and let others have their chance.

“You say you have made him a Smith?” The leader said to Truearm.

“Yes,” he responded.

“No you did not,” she contradicted him, “you cannot give to somebody what they already possess. Harry Potter is not an honorary Smith, he is a true Smith.” As her words spread backwards throughout the audience behind her, a wave of conversation went with it, and at the head table Slimshanks groaned.

“What's wrong?” Ron asked, “isn't that a good thing, that he’s already a Smith?’”

“Don't you see Ron,” Hermione said, “Slimshanks has just said that wizards, I mean humans, won't be Smiths and then the first human wizard that they are presented with is actually a Smith.”

Slimshanks nodded. “Miss Granger is quite correct, I'm going to have my work cut out for me in the meetings tomorrow when they bring my words back and throw them in my face.” He groaned again. 

 

\--o-O-o--

 

In the middle, the grandmothers bid goodbye to the Smiths and followed Stampofiron back to where they'd emerged from. All of the acute seriousness had left them and they had returned to their previous behaviour. As they were going, Harry could hear a few of them telling Stampofiron that one day she was sure to become a grandmother herself.

The Smiths were all left there together and Truearm began the conversation. “Well what do you think?”

One of the older goblin Smiths said, “How bloody smart is that Slimshanks? He had those idiots eating out of the palm of his hand. He doesn't even have to convince them that the witches should belong to everyone, they already agree. The only thing they have to do now, what they going to do for days, is just to argue over the details; argue and fucking argue.”

“And you, Hammerfall?”

“I agree with my colleague. Not necessarily with his penchant for crudity, but his estimation of your astute political leader. I wish we had as good in our clan, believe you me.”

“And you, Breaksthroughstone?”

The last of the Smiths was a considerably younger female. “It is a good idea and I see further benefit in lessening the impact that will come from not everyone being able to use a wand. It could have had the potential to devastate our society. But we already have the mechanisms in place for Smiths and Grandmothers, and this would just be another.”

“Yes I thought as much myself,” Truearm replied, “The fact of it had already been pointed out to me by Miss Granger, by way of Smith Potter. She has been truly of help in this situation and there is a further development she has pointed out which I am not at liberty to go into now. When I know more, I will let you three know.”

“Harry, anything else further to add?”

The Smith’s attentions were now firmly on him. It was disconcerting to say the least, but there was something that Harry had thought of. “It's also good if you share the witches and wizards to come because, um, you haven't really taken into account that some people are better at some types of Spells than others.”

They gave him quizzical looks and Hammerfall said, “Please elaborate.”

“I mean, if Goblin witches and wizards are going to be basically the same as human ones, then some of them will be better at transfiguration and some will be better at charms or potions and, you know, so on.”

“ And?” HammerFall prompted him.

“Well what happens if the witch or wizard your Clan gets is great at charms, but what your clan really needs is transfiguration? Um,” Harry paused trying to think of an example, “like in the Bank. Most of the stuff I’ve seen there, they need charms for. So it wouldn't be very useful for them, if the goblin wizard they get, when they finally get one, was good in herbology, say.”

“I see,” Hammerfall said, rubbing his chin.

The other older goblin said, “Makes sense. It’s something we can use if some of those dunderheads want’a cave-in the argument. That'll be right useful, thanks boy.” He gave Harry a rough slap on the arm.

“If that is all?” No further comments from the rest of the Smiths greeted Truearm’s question. “If you would please, Grathpar.”

The older goblin who swore a lot stepped forward, drawing out a large mallet from his belt and handed it hilt first to Harry. It wasn’t nearly as big as the ones that the other Smiths carried. Grathpar must have seen Harry’s look because he said, “There you go, a little migdgy one for a little midge.” And even though Harry stood at least a foot taller than the diminutive goblin, he did feel smaller in this company. He could sense the assured power these goblins commanded, even the younger female who wasn’t much older than he was.

“Reply with them Harry,” Truearm said in a quiet voice.

Truearm held out his hammer as the three Smiths, now four with Harry, held theirs up to his. In a voice which carried beyond their group he said, “We have met together and kept our dealings true.”

The other goblins and Harry said together, “and, at least, there was no bloody fighting.”

* * *

**Author’s note: Another chapter down. I wanted to put this one out, not only because I had it ready to go, but because my other story just got 10,000 reads. This was back on the old HPFF site, which was excellent and now will sadly be missed.**

**As ever Pix has been most helpful with my grammar and several pertinent suggestions about the story.**

**These two chapters were difficult for me to write, not because of any writer's block as such, but because I wondered if the two were actually necessary. Also, I wondered if this chapter wasn’t too taken over with Slimshanks talking. But it all came together and there are some things in it that will march on. For instance the Grandmothers. I like their addition into goblin culture and society. JKR always said that goblins had magic of their own, but I got the feeling that it was less than what the wizards had (or why else would they crave wands?). Quite often in old human tribal cultures, there would be ways and lore preserved by the female elders that was different to that overseen by the male ones. In thinking of this and combining it all, out popped the Grandmothers. We shall see them again, but perhaps we shall next see them in the pages of Pride and Scorpius?  
**


	11. Chapter 10: Weasley's Wizard Wheezes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finding out some disturbing news in the morning paper, Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys all go over to see the reopening of the joke shop.

**Note: If I was writing about Barry, Harmonium, and all the Weasel Family going to Weasel's Wondrous Wizzbangs, well then it would all be mine I tells ya, all mine BWHA HA HA !**

... but, as you will no-doubt actually recognise the names of all the characters, all I am doing is playing in the sandbox of a very rich woman and she allows this because of her tolerance and generosity of spirit.

* * *

Chapter 10: Weasley's Wizard Wheezes

 

The morning sun crept in through the narrowest of gaps in the curtains and found Harry still asleep, even though it had gone nine; closer to half past the hour actually. The flickering light though the branches outside could only serve to rouse him.

They all kept the same rooms that they’d had back in that summer - the Summer of Sirius - Harry couldn’t help but remember it as. It was just a natural fit for them all: Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had their own room, the girls were in together, and he was with Ron. There were enough rooms in the house for them all to have one each and then some, but after having spent most of the last seven years bunking together with Ron, it actually felt weirder for Harry to be alone in his own room.

Besides, being in separate rooms might arouse the suspicions of Mrs. Weasley as to ‘nighttime shenanigans’, and he certainly did not want to go there. He started, remembering that embarrassing talk they had the other day. Such thoughts were enough to bring him to a complete state of wakefulness, even though the night before had run into the wee hours. Harry could stay abed's no more. He jumped up, got changed and went downstairs, leaving a still somnolent Ron behind him.

Mr. Weasley was at the table when Harry entered the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee and reading the morning edition of the Daily Prophet.

“Morning Mr. Weasley. When did you get in?”

“Hi there Harry, well before you lot I know that much. I'd been asleep when I heard you all come in.”

Harry had lit the stove and put a kettle on over the flames before he turned back around to Mr. Weasley. “Sorry about that. We tried to be quiet.”

Mr. Weasley waved a hand. “You weren't too loud nor were you being too noisy that I didn't go straight back to sleep.”

Harry busied himself getting a cup of tea together, and Mr. Weasley went back to his paper. He was letting the tea steep when Mr. Weasley said, “I forgot. The morning mail came in just before you did. I think there’s some for you.”

Harry sat with his cup of tea and went through the pile. He'd gotten a lot of mail in the past, when his name had been on people's minds - like the time he’d given the interview to the Quibbler. Since the defeat of Voldemort, he got letters every day, but now so too did Hermione and even Ron. Harry sorted them out to find that, amongst all the ‘fan’ stuff, there was one official-looking letter for Hermione from the Ministry and one for him from Truearm.

He took a sip of his tea and was about to open the letter, when Mr. Weasley turned a page of his newspaper. The motion caught Harry's attention and he glanced up. Mr. Weasley had been reading the paper with most of it lying flat upon the table and only the top bit angled up so that he could see it better. Harry could only see the headlines at top of the paper, but what he read made him spray out a mouth full of tea all over the table in front of them. Mr. Weasley recoiled in horror, futilely trying to remove his paper from the line of fire.

“She's alive!?” Harry managed to splutter out in the face of Mr. Weasley’s unspoken question. 

Mr. Weasley folded the paper round to see what it was that had caused Harry such consternation. He let out a mirthless laugh when he realised what Harry had read. “Of course _she's_ dead,” Mr. Weasley said, folding the paper back and flattening it out in front of Harry, so that Harry could read the entirety of the front page for himself. 

Lestrange  
Dolohov  
McNair  
MISSING

Underneath were the pictures of these _men_ and Harry understood it was Rudolphus who was missing and not the mad, bad and dangerous to know Bellatrix. Harry knew he’d seen her fall, but thinking about it now, he wouldn't have been surprised to find out that she had a horcrux, just like her twisted Master.

Harry read on a bit, but didn't get far until his thoughts pulled him out of the article. “But I thought Bill and Charlie were fighting him. Wasn't he caught just before I got to Voldemort?”

“That's what we all thought, Harry. That he'd been caught up and imprisoned with the other Death Eaters, but you see after the battle …” At the look of incredulousness on Harry's face, Mr. Weasley said, “Hold on Harry, it's not that bad. It's not as laissez-faire as that makes it sound, but you know how that battle was. You were fighting them, and once all of us adults came in and over the wall from Hogsmeade, we were pushing the Death Eaters and that lot back into the castle and back into the Great Hall.”

“Well our side was using non-lethals, mostly,” he corrected himself remembering a certain glaring exception, “and by the time you were fighting Voldemort, a lot of those spells and jinxes must have worn off. Once you’d killed Voldemort, what were they going to do - hang around and hand themselves in? No, those rats had more sense of self preservation than that. Those that could, scarpered. We collected some of that were still stunned and otherwise incapacitated or too slow to make their get-aways. I swear that I thought Rudolphus was one of them, I swear I saw him fall to Bill and Charlie, but when we checked later on, he wasn't anywhere to be found.”

Harry looked confused. “But why didn't anybody tell me?”

“The Auror’s department didn't want to tell anyone at all. Ministry officials - as soon as they got there after the battle - whisked all the prisoners away. From what Kingsley told me, he only knew that all of that lot was missing the other week himself. Things have been chaotic at the ministry as we've tried to sort out who were genuine supporters of Voldemort's, who were Imperiused, and who just enjoyed what was happening; like Umbridge.”

“She’s evil,” said Harry with a scowl upon his face. “You sure she didn't directly support Voldemort? You can't tell me she wasn’t enjoying persecuting those Muggleborns.”

“Well the thing is, she didn't do anything wrong.”

“Come on!” Harry retorted angrily.

“Ok Harry, I know. So I should say, that she didn't do anything illegal. Everything she did was sanctioned by the Minister and the ministry of the time, but she is being looked into, Harry, very closely. Any role she has in the Ministry won't be very great at all, if we have anything to do about it.”

“You mean she still going to be there in the Ministry? Still employed!?” Harry said incredulously.

“Harry, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said trying to calm him down.

“No, you didn't see her. She was loving taking the wands away from real witches and wizards. Interrogating them, belittling them.”

“Harry, enough!” Mr. Weasley said sternly. “You were there one day Harry, one day. I had to endure it day after day, for months. The misery caused by her, and Rookwood, and Thicknesse, and the rest, and I could do nothing overt to help - on the orders of Dumbledore and the Order. So I know she is a poisonous toad of a woman, but we can't just arrest her for taking delight in the misery of others; I wish we could, but we can't.”

An uncomfortable silence descended upon them. Harry had not often seen Mr. Weasley get angry. It was no good shouting at him, he wanted the same justice as Harry did. 

Mr. Weasley was the first to break the silence. “Back to what you asked me: you weren't told, no one was. The Auror’s department thought secrecy might aid in their search for the fugitives, but it hasn't been the case. So they brought it to the attention of Kingsley and have taken it now to the public. We want them found as much as you do Harry, especially Lestrange. The others, without Voldemort, aren’t much, but him … I know you know that he was one of the group that searched for Voldemort when he was originally defeated. He and his wife, Barty Crouch Jr. and a couple of others, were the ones who tortured the Longbottoms. They were the ones who couldn't accept that Voldemort was dead.

“Now what if he still thinks that and goes around doing what he did last time - torturing and killing to find out where Voldemort is? Or worse, if he knows Voldemort is dead, accepts it - such a man, devoted as he was, might think that there is nothing left to lose and couldn't care less who else he kills before he is killed himself.”

That was a lot to think about. Harry sat and sipped his tea, trying to digest it all. His reverie was interrupted by much happier sounding voices approaching the kitchen. They were engaged in good natured arguing and soon enough Harry could tell it was Mrs. Weasley and Kreacher.

“... have a break. I can cook breakfast for them all.”

“Kreacher has slept in enough. I thank the Missus for rousing me, but the Missus should allow me the same respect she would wish - would you like it if Kreacher came to your kitchen and insisted on cooking in it?”

Harry saw the gentle smile upon Mrs. Weasley’s face as they entered the kitchen. “If you put it that way, how can I refuse.”

“Hello you two,” she said, catching sight of Harry and her husband. She walked up to Mr. Weasley and gave him a hug from behind. “I’ve woken the rest, and they should be down shortly - we've got a lot to do today.” She let her husband go and sat down beside him. “We have to get home and then get straight back to visit George when he reopens their shop. I must say it's almost like a holiday with the restaurant last night and somebody else making me breakfast this morning.” She looked over to where Kreacher was busying himself at the skillet.

Harry had a brainwave. “Why don't you stay, Mrs. Weasley? Have a proper little holiday. You've got nothing urgent on back at home, have you?” He didn't pause to let her get a word in. “So stay here at least for another night. It would be Kreacher’s and my pleasure to have you stay; isn't that right Kreacher?”

“That it is, young Master,” he said without turning from the stove.

The look on his wife’s face settled it for Mr. Weasley and so he answered on her behalf - it would do his wife good to be waited on for a change. “That is quite generous Harry, we would love to stay.

 

\--o-O-o--

 

The others arrived in dribs and drabs. It was only when Mr. Weasley told the others that they had mail, that Harry remembered he had letters of his own. He opened the one from Truearm first and read it, alternately taking sips from his tea or bites of his marmalade covered toast, the sweetness of his Earl Gray contrasted nicely with the tang of the marmalade.

_Dear Harry,  
Would you consent to do me a bit of a favour - though knowing you, I don't think you'll find it too burdensome. On Wednesday morning, Mr. Ollivander has consented to open his doors for a private wand fitting for Lightsthefire. The appointment is at 8 o'clock in the morning, before everything opens up on the street. I would value it highly, and I'm sure Lightsthefire would too, if you would join us both for a bit of moral support, if nothing else.  
I know I only saw you last night, but Ollivander’s acceptance was waiting upon my desk after the dinner, so I got onto this straight away - to give you as long as possible to plan._

_Your clan brother, Truearm, Clan-Smith of the Deep Delvers, High Smith of Britain._

Harry was roused from his reading by Hermione’s reaction to the official letter of her own. He could tell she was excited, but her nervous glance across the table at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley told Harry that there was something more to it. She elbowed Ron, who was getting stuck into his breakfast and reading the paper. 

“Wha-?” he spluttered, as she nudged him, but at her expression he went quiet. 

Hermione leaned in, speaking to him in a whisper. “It arrived, the confirmation Ron, we can go anytime this week.”

“You want to tell Mum?” At Hermione's nod he said, “Ok, let me finish this bit,” indicating the piece of toast in his hand and the bacon on his fork.

He did so and Hermione cleared her throat. “Um, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?”

“Yes dear?” Mrs. Weasley responded.

“Before I go back to school I was going to go and see my parents.”

Mrs. Weasley frowned, “but aren't they in Australia?”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley.” At the further, unspoken question Hermione said, “The Ministry has allowed me to use an international portkey to go anytime I want to this week.”

“That's nice for you dear.” Mrs. Weasley said, still a bit nonplused as to why Hermione would be telling her, but the confusion was cleared up when Ron cleared his throat.

“And I'm going too, Mum.” It was a statement and the way he said it brooked no negative response from his mother. “We don't know what will find there. It was a good place to send Hermione's mum and dad, it could be a good place for those escaped Death Eaters to hide.” He indicated the paper in front of him. “So I'm going to go with Hermione when she goes to un-obliviate her mum and dad.”

“We will only be gone a week or so,” Hermione said quickly and in a much more conciliatory tone than Ron’s firm one. After all, she didn't technically have to say anything about her actions to the Weasleys. “We will be back for Harry's birthday, for sure.”

Mrs. Weasley wasn't looking happy with it, but she knew Ron’s tone for what it was. She needed support so she said, “Arthur,” in a strident and commanding tone, crossed her arms and sat back in her seat with a disapproving frown.

Mr. Weasley had just taken a bite of his breakfast. He slowly lowered his fork as he masticated his huge mouthful of toast, bacon and egg. He finally swallowed, looking across the table at his son with his hands still holding the knife and fork, but flat now upon the table. “Would you consider taking a chaperone?”

Mrs. Weasley and Ron both talked at once.

“Arthur!?”

“Dad!?”

And both delivered in the exactly the same tone of indignation.

“Molly,” said Mr Weasley addressing his wife's exclamation first, “they both went travelling together last year…”

“And I didn't like it then either!”

“Yes, I know Molly love, but what it showed us - what I know you understand, but I also know you don't want to accept - is that they're not asking us for permission, they are doing us the courtesy of telling us that they are going.”

Mrs. Weasley looked decidedly unhappy with his pronouncement, but she couldn't say anything in the face of what her husband had just said.

He looked across the table at Ron. “I didn't mean us as chaperones. I know you don't want your mum and dad cramping your style. Anyway, I can't possibly leave work at the moment and your mother is not allowed to leave the country before her trial. But you are right, one of the reasons I can't leave work is how short staffed we are and that's because there have been a lot of suspicious absences since Voldemort was defeated. And what's more, we know that some of the long range and international portkeys were activated. So there very well could be Death Eaters out there, and I think it'd be safer if you had an adult with you.”

Ron began to protest, but his father hastily amended his words. “Another adult, I know you’re both of age. That's why I was thinking of Charlie.”

Ron, who had been frowning, now raised his eyebrows and sat back in his seat with a thoughtful expression.

“Actually,” continued his father, “you'd be doing Charlie the favour. You know he came back to help the family out when things started going really badly, but he had to leave his job and he really didn't have permission to go. Plus, he used up all his money on a portkey.”

Ron was nodding, Harry saw, so he obviously knew, but Harry hadn't known.

Mr. Weasley let out an amused, “huh, and I've met some of the people in charge of the Dragon Reserve. They are very concerned about the welfare of dragons, very much so, but the affairs of humans come a far, far distant second. So if Charlie could go along with you and while he was in Australia he could go to the Opaleye sanctuary - which I know he’s always wanted to see - then his bosses might not even really be bothered with his absence.”

“Plus, if the ministry is paying for your portkeys …” He looked to Hermione and she nodded. “Then if you could arrange to have one to come back here and one to go to Romania for your return trip, then that would help Charlie out even more.”

 

\--o-O-o--

It was all decided to everyone's satisfaction.

A few quick Owls were sent off: one to Truearm with Harry’s assurance that he’d love to come with them to get Lightsthefire’s wand; and one to Charlie to tell him of the plans. Charlie’s reply came back to them before they left.

_“That’s fantastic.  
Of course I’ll go with you guys. If I can say that I’ve just been doing some research on the Opaleyes then my boss might not even remember that he didn’t send me. My boss - Dragomir Zmaj (yes that’s his real name, and zmaj is Serbian for dragon too, so he’s Dragon Dragon) - is like that. He’d probably sack me if I left to help people, but if I was researching dragons, he wouldn’t mind a bit.  
I’m ready to go at any time, just tell me when.  
Charlie._

So Charlie would accompany them, and Mrs. Weasley wouldn't worry so much, but Harry wondered what exactly it was that concerned her the most: the fact that there could be Death Eaters there; or that Ron and Hermione could get up to mischief - dare he think hanky panky - while they were alone?

They floo’d to the Leaky Cauldron and went into Diagon Alley much the same as they did yesterday and at much the same time. The only thing that was really different was the fact that Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was set to open again, but it was like a beacon that was chasing away the pall of shadows that had lain across the street.

Everywhere they looked there were orange WWW posters. Some with George’s and/or Fred’s faces on them; some with the name of the shop in big bold letters; but most, for some reason, depicting an exploding chicken. And everyone and everywhere seemed to be a bit brighter and happier.

Madam Malkin stood in her doorway and gave them a pleasant wave. The girls and Mrs. Weasley went over and exchanged pleasantries and thanked her for the beautiful dresses. They chit chatted happily for a bit about how the evening went, but Mrs. Weasley made noises about having to go.

“My son's reopening his shop, you know?” she said proudly.

“Oh yes, I know,” Madam Malkin said. “Your two boys have been such a breath of fresh air on the street, you don't know.” She took Mrs. Weasley's hands and turned serious. “We were all so sad to hear what happened. Everyone loves them here. They would always pop in, one or the other of them, and always cheer everyone up; even when all of them you-know-what Eaters were doing what they liked to whom they liked. Your boys would try to make us smile again. They were the heart and soul of the street. We were all so upset when we heard what had happened.”

Mrs. Weasley thanked her most profusely, and with somewhat happy tears in her eyes she gave the woman a final hug then they were all off - with Madam Malkin waving them away. She was right, they'd had a glimmering of it before, but now they really noticed there were more people stopping and talking on the street. Shopkeepers were hanging out signs and fixing window displays. They even passed one shop that had been boarded up only yesterday and now an older wizard was prying off the boards over its windows. Not him exactly, he had enchanted a hammer and was directing it with his wand; catching the boards as they were prised off and fell away.

Through the twisting alleyway, they saw a bit of a crowd in front of George’s shop. But once they got there, they found that they had underestimated its size because it almost stretched from one side of the street to the other. The crowd only increased in the minutes after their arrival, even though they’d planned to get there early.

Lots of different people milled about in front of the shut-up shop; kids formed a significant part of the crowd, and Harry recognised a lot of the older ones from school. There was one person in particular that the taller Ron had spotted.

“Dean!” he yelled out.

Harry saw the top of a head in the crowd before him, turn and make it's laborious way to him through the people and come to a halt in front of them. Dean greeted them all warmly, handshakes all around with a, ‘pleasure to meet you again Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.’

“How come you're here?” Ron asked.

Dean looked at him askance, and half turned his head back to the shop they were all crowded up against.

“No, I don't mean in front of George’s shop,” Ron said. “I mean in Diagon Alley?”

“Oh yeah, me and Seamus needed to get some supplies.” Then he excitedly said, “We start our Auror’s course on Monday, and you'll never guess who's going to join us too!”

He was looking expectantly at Harry and Ron, but it was Hermione who said, “Neville?”

“Yeah, that's right.” Dean looked only a little bit put out that Hermione had stolen his thunder, but he had spent six of the last seven years with her and knew it was simply her way. “Did he tell you?”

“No, no, but it's something I could see him doing.”

“Hey and while we're talking about it, why didn't you guys join too? You know, Kingsley said he needs anyone he can get.”

Harry pushed down the sudden surge of anger that welled up in him. From the experience of being long time friends, he knew that Dean wasn't prying for the sake of it, or demanding anything of him, he just honestly wanted to know. The truth was, there had been a lot of pressure put on him to join the Aurors, and by a lot of different people in the Ministry. There were so many reasons he didn't want to join yet, but he didn't know how to sum it up for Dean.

Fortunately, Ron noticed his floundering and stepped in. “Nah, that's ok Dean. We might join you next year, but me and Harry have been chasing dark wizards for the past year and it's time we handed over the task to other wizards. We’ll like reading about your name in the paper for once.” He held up his hands and mimed reading a paper. “Youngest Auror Team In Ministry History Arrest Escaped Death Eaters.”

Harry could see that Dean was chuffed by Ron's words. Ron was right, it would be good to read about one of his friends in the paper for a change. But he saw Dean's eyes flick, with some concern, to the other side of Ron.

Ron must have noticed because he said, “As for Hermione, well, she can't get all outstanding in her NEWTS, if she doesn’t actually sit them, can she?”

Hermione lightly elbowed run in the ribs. “Ron don't jinx me,” she said half seriously.

“Nah,” Ron said, hugging Hermione around the shoulders with one arm. “You know you don't have to worry on that score. The only thing you have to worry about, is if you'll get all O’s on the ten subjects you do, or the twenty.”

Hermione blushed and buried her head in Ron’s side and hit him in the chest a couple of times.

While they’d been talking, the crowd had grown even more, touching the other side of the street now. Dean looked at his watch and then back into the crowd from whence he’d come. “Aw, I gave up my good spot to talk to you guys. I could have talked to you guys any time. They’re just about to open; all the good stuff will be long gone before I can get in. Sheamus was counting on me”

Mrs. Weasley was frowning. “Do they know we're here? Shouldn't there be special provisions for relatives.”

Harry looked at his watch and was surprised to see that there were less than ten minutes to go before the shop was due to open. He looked up towards the shop trying to see anything over the heads of the crowd in front of him, but nothing appeared to be happening in the shop at all: the door was resolutely closed; as too were the windows; and all the blinds were still drawn. While he was looking, he noticed something in the air above the shop. As it came closer, it resolved itself into an owl. It was actually coming straight for them, but just before it got to them it banked and a letter fell down out of its grasp to lay at their feet. 

Ginny bent down and picked it up. “It's for you, Mum.” From her expression it was obvious that she had no idea what it was about. Harry saw, as she handed it over, that there was nothing upon the envelope except for, ‘Molly Weasley.’

Mrs. Weasley took it anyway and opened it. As she read she began to smile. It must have been a short note, because it wasn't half a minute before she finished and folded it back up and put it away in her handbag with a severely smug expression.

“What was it, Mum?” Ron couldn't stop himself from asking.

“Never you mind Ronald Weasley, never you mind.” Drawing her attention away from her youngest son, she went back to looking at the shop. “I think they're about to open.”

Gringotts’ clock chimed at that very moment. The crowd quietened slightly as the front door started to creak open. The crowd began to move in anticipation but it stopped when the door stopped too, only opening a hand’s breadth.

The crowd surged back, confused mutterings passing backwards and forwards through it. The door began to creak open once more. Such a loud creaking sound, that Harry knew must be as the result of some WWW product; probably called something like, ‘the Weasley Patented Door Creaking Kit.’

The door only opened a little further, just enough to allow George to pop his head out. There was a cheer from the crowd but it was soon shushed quiet as people started to realise that George was talking. Someone, from the other side of the crowd, yelled out, ‘I can't hear you,’ another voice added, ‘we can't see you either.’

The head withdrew, the door closed before it opened up again. Harry couldn't see exactly what was happening, but then suddenly George's head and shoulders appeared above the crowd; he must have brought something out to stand upon. He held his wand up to his throat and said, “Sonorous.” 

His amplified voice rang out across the street. “Can you all hear me? Yeah?” There was a chorus of assent. “Um, good, um,” George said speaking slowly and hesitantly very unlike he normally would. “You see, the thing is…” he paused.

Harry began to get worried, this wasn't how he expected a fun loving George reopening his beloved shop would be. No this was more like a return to the depressed George that he'd seen, the George who first appeared at the Burrow the other night. And he wasn't the only one to be worried; the faces around Harry began to take upon them looks of concern.

“Um, look, I know I was supposed to open up at ten o’clock, but,” he nervously ran his hand through his hair. Harry suddenly noticed that the crowd was deathly silent. “Yeah, but um,” he slumped his shoulders and mumbled something that no one could hear.

A voice shouted out, “What?”

George looked up. “I said, I'm sorry,” disappearing from view. There wasn't a crack of disapparation, so he must have just jumped down from what he was standing upon. From behind him, through the doorway that nobody had noticed opening fully, something shot out over the space that George had just occupied and then out over the heads of the crowd, expanding as it came.

It took the crowd a moment to realise something had flown out of the doorway and above their heads. It took another moment to register that it was a chicken, or a cartoonish facsimile of one at least. Then it took yet another precious moment to realise that the swelling of the chicken was not halting; if anything it was beginning to speed up.

Somebody shouted, ‘It's going to blow.’ The crowd shrieked and, as one, turned away from the epicentre of the blast … but nothing really happened.

Everyone had felt a blast of air, but it was no worse than one would experience on a mildly windy day. The people in the crowd came out of their half crouches and started to look around and that's when the true effect of the explosion could be seen - everyone on the street in front the store, now sported bright orange hair.

There was some laughter, some angry words, but before much could be said, George’s voice rang out across the street once more. “Witches and wizards, anyone who comes into our shop today with orange hair will get a free lucky dip and a commemorative photo of them with Fred-the-Ghost, celebrating the grand reopening of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes!” 

There was a massive cheer from the crowd, as the blinds in the window shot up and the door flew open wide.

“Come one, come all.” George’s voice still rang out over the crowd as it surged forward. “Many new products await you, the likes of which have never been seen before. Some made using the eldritch secrets brought back by Fred-the-Ghost from beyond the pale. Others inspired by the Fall of Voldemort and our own heroic part in his downfall. Including the entire range of Fred-the-Ghost merchandise. All this and, of course, all the old favourites that you’ve come to know and love, on sale here today.”

While he talked, the crowd kept pouring into the shop and kept on going, and going … and going. It was impossible. Harry started to say, “How’s that …,” but he broke off when he saw everyone. It was at Mr. Weasley in particular he started to laugh. Everyone had bright orange hair, Harry could only imagine what he looked like. Hermione and Ginny were standing beside each other looking like sisters, though Ginny's hair, which was orange to begin with, was now almost incandescently so. Mrs. Weasley's muted, rusty-auburn hair was now several shades more garish, but Mr. Weasley looked almost exactly the same.

“Hey, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said, “I see everyone's copying your look.”

Mr Weasley grinned goofily and waggled his eyebrows at Harry. Everyone was looking around, laughing at each other, except, Harry noted, for Ginny. She had been laughing along with them before, but then something must have occurred to her and she narrowed her eyes in suspicion at her mother.

“Mum, what was in that letter? It wasn't George tipping you off about the prank, was it?” Her mother just adopted a serene smile. “It was! Why didn't you warn us all before hand?”

“I will neither confirm, nor deny, that I was apprised of the upcoming prank.” She said in a sing-song sort of way. “All that I will say, is that when George and Fred make a promise, they keep it.” 

“Mum,” Ron said complainingly, his hair a match for Ginny’s - from this close it almost hurt Harry's eyes look at. “You got caught up in it too, why didn't you duck or something?”

Mrs. Weasley gave her son a pitying look, like it should have been obvious. “Because I want my free commemorative photo, of course. Come on, let's go or we might miss out.” And she started walking towards the open door of the shop.

They all got going, and reminded Harry of the question he wanted answered. “Hey, I started to ask before, how's everyone fitting into the shop?”

“It must be expanded,” Hermione said.

“But we know it's not. We’ve been there before.”

“Yes Harry, but you can get a temporary expansion charm.”

“They are costly,” Mr. Weasley supplied, “and they don't last - especially on an already magic building - but it can be done. The effect will only last a day or two.”

As they entered the shop, Harry could see that Hermione had been quite correct. The shop was far larger than it had been, with enough space for the entire crowd and then some. The merchandise was everywhere. There were low aisles of stuff throughout the entirety of the shop. To the side were t-shirt racks and posters, and the cage of pigmy puffs wasn’t merely a simple cage. Instead it had four ‘cages’ as such, with a maze of interconnecting pipes and a mass of the colourful creatures cavorting around within.

Harry caught sight of the new merchandise George had spoken of. With a cut out of ‘Fred the Friendly Ghost’ floating magically above it, Harry saw a stand full of plush toys, snow globes, children's story books and more, before it was obscured by kids.

Thinking of Fred, he was standing - well floating - in front of a large WWW logo. A camera on a tripod was set up in front of it all, with a uniformed assistant, in bright orange robes, to take the photos. A line of people stood to one side, waiting to get their photo taken with him and to get a lucky dip from the box next to him afterwards.

Over the heads of the crowd, George (and another couple of assistants) could easily be seen, standing behind the counter that dominated two walls of the shop - the floor behind the counter must have been raised to achieve the effect - and dominating the wall behind George was a large sign with large red letters: ‘Shoplifters Will Be Haunted.’

There was so much to take in. Their contemplation was disturbed by a loud, “You Boys and Your Pranks!” The serene smile had disappeared from Mrs. Weasley face. She now looked murderous, like she was seething, as she marched through the shop - the crowd in front of her wisely parting. 

George just stared at the angry apparition that was his mother. He'd gone as white as his ghostly twin. Fred had abandoned his post and had ducked behind George. He was now peering out at his mother, not from underneath his brothers arm, but through it.

“But, Mum?” George spluttered, “we, we owled you …”

“You Two!” Mrs Weasley screamed drawing back her wand and letting go with a spell. A silvery ball expanded from the end of her wand and hurtled towards the two boys who were cowering in its path. They flinched as it engulfed them. It left an almost perfect negative impression of George upon the wall behind him and … covered him in glitter.

The crowd, which Harry hadn't realised was silent, now erupted in whoops of laughter. George unravelled himself from his protective crouch and tentatively opened an eye to survey the damage. As soon as he saw his silvery hands, he had to grin and laugh along with the rest of them. He didn't notice that his mum had moved up and was now standing right in front of him. She popped him on the end of his nose with her wand and said, “Gotcha. Now where's my commemorative photo?”

She went to the head of the queue, it wasn't so much nepotism as that no one was going to stand in her way. She was the only one that day to have a photo taken with both Fred and George - a solid arm linked through one arm and an ethereal one through the other, with Fred floating beside her and George literally dripping with silver sparkles. She was so proud of that photo, that she kept it mounted on her kitchen wall.

George ushered his mum back to their group and said, “Here she is. Keep her out of trouble please, Dad. Um,” he said, the grin disappearing from his face, “look I know you’re family and all, but do you mind terribly if we give you a tour and show you the new stuff some other time, is that OK? This is going to be one of the biggest days of the year for us. We want to shift as much of this stuff as possible before the shop shrinks back later tonight.”

“Don't worry son, go and sell your bits and bobs. We don't mind.”

“Thanks Dad,” George said, and scampered back to go behind the counter, raising his voice as he did so. “Until it runs out, a free sprinkling of magic glitter with every purchase.”

The group of them split up to look around the shop. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley didn’t last long, there wasn't much stuff there for them - though Mrs. Weasley had to drag her husband away from the Muggle magic tricks with a stern, ‘Arthur.’ They soon made their farewells. “See you back at Grimmauld Place for dinner,” Mrs. Weasley called, and they went off together.

The girls lasted a bit longer, after checking out if anything new had been added to the ‘WonderWitch’ line, but the delights of practical jokes weren't so appealing to them. They each gave their respective boyfriends a kiss, and left to go meet ‘someone’. “We’ll meet you back near the Leaky Cauldron in a couple of hours, Ok?” And they were gone too.

Seamus had joined them all, just after Mrs. Weasley’s exploding ball of tinsel, with a, “What’d I miss.” The four boys, Gryffindors as were, hung out together for a time talking about what they had all been up to. Dean and Seamus already knew most of what Harry had been doing with the goblins, from the papers. But Ron and Harry wanted to know more about the Aurors, seeing as that’s what they both wanted to do once the year was over. But there was little to tell, because the actual training hadn’t started as yet, it was all introductory stuff.

Soon enough they went on their way, Seamus saying, rather self-importantly, “We don’t need much of this stuff. Got more serious things to deal with now, don’t we Dean.”

The boys both had found lots to amuse themselves, but Seamus’ parting words had made Ron come to a realisation. “I forgot,” Ron said, “that we’re actually going back to Hogwarts this year. Some of this stuff might come in handy. Do you reckon I should get a Skiving Snackbox? You never know when you might need to get out of a class.”

Harry looked over at the box, which included all the old favorites like the Puking Pastilles and the Tonne Tongue Toffees, but it boasted some new additions: the Pustil Pralines (that made you break out in boils) and the Sniffling Sherbet (which gave you all the symptoms of a cold for 30 minutes). Harry looked up from peering in the box, and shrugged his shoulders. “It can't hurt?” 

Ron pulled a few more of the standard WWW products from the shelves, but then he sighed and started putting them back.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“I can't afford all of this,” Ron said with a dejected look on his face. “And you know them,” he nodded towards George at the counter. “Just because I'm their brother, doesn't count for anything.”

“Don't worry, I'll pay for it.” Harry couldn't have said anything worse from the look Ron gave him, that was equal parts angry and resentful. “No Ron, I don't mean it like that.” Harry said hastily. “It's like with Ginny, you know, her dress. You know how I bought that for her as a late Christmas present from last year, well this'll be yours.”

Ron was not particularly mollified. Harry knew that he hated how poor he was. He didn't resent Harry for what he had, not at all - Ron's tendencies didn't run towards resentment - but he did hate that he could never be as generous in return. 

“Look mate, get heaps. That way it will be for the both of us so that I won't feel guilty pinching as much of it back from you when I want to. Let's have some fun this year. None of us will be a Prefect so we can do what we want.”

“Hey look, over there,” Harry said jerking his chin up to point across the store. “While you're at it get a big box of the firecrackers, and your present back to me can be an awesome fool-proof way for us to use them.” 

A big grin blossomed on Ron’s face, understanding that his mate wasn’t dishing out charity - just using what he had, exactly what Ron would do if the situations were reversed. He immediately turned and walked towards firework display.

“Hey!” Harry shouted at him, causing Ron to look back. Harry held up an admonishing finger, “Foolproof, so that we won't get caught.”

“Harry,” said Ron, waving him down, “you worry too much. I can’t have been the brother of Fred and George for all these years without learning something.”

Harry now had a chance to look around, as he knew Ron would make all the right choices as far as ‘necessary’ Hogwarts supplies went. He looked over the display of Fred the Ghost merchandise and found a surprising lot of it. Though what he saw were only the remnants of what had once been upon the shelves, judging by the emptiness of the display and how much of the stuff little kids were holding. There was even a kids book. He picked it up, the cover loudly proclaimed, ‘George Weasley presents, Fred the Friendly Ghost and the Missing Babies.’ The picture on the cover of Fred the Ghost floating above a basket containing a baby dragon, a baby manticore, and what looked like the tail of a baby blast ended skrewt. At the bottom of the cover was a byline, ‘words by Alicia Spinnet, drawings by Dean Thomas.’

It made sense, Harry thought, if you were a writer looking for work, you wrote anything that came your way. And Dean had always been a fantastic artist.

He kept browsing around, there was lots to see. He went past a tub of edible ‘George’s missing ears - try not to get a real one’, but it was as he was rifling through the t-shirt rack that he found the one item he absolutely had to get. He pulled the t-shirt out and went over the counter, corralling Ron on the way. “Got enough stuff? You didn’t stint?”

“Yep.” He replied, hoisting up a basket that was chock-a-block full of WWW products. “I got two boxes of the fireworks. Either it's worth doing big or it’s not worth doing at all.”

The line at the counter had lessened since the rush of earlier. “Hey, George,” Harry said. “I see you got Alicia to write your book, and Dean to draw it.”

George grinned at Harry. “Me and Fred knew what we wanted the story to be, but,” he shrugged and held his hands out, “you'd be surprised how hard it is to write a kids book. Lucky for us, Alicia saved our bacon, though she knows how to negotiate - she is getting a sizable royalty from them with a promise of more to come. And Dean did the drawings for a supply of all the Auror stuff we make, for the entirety of his training.”

One of the assistants started tallying up the purchases. “George do you mind,” Harry said realising just how much it was all going to cost, “adding this up for us, and if you don't mind keeping it here, I'll get the gold out of the bank and bring it when I come back and see you later on, on Wednesday?”

George nodded, “For you Harry, of course.”

“Anywhere I can change into this?” Harry asked, holding up the t-shirt he wanted, slapping four galleons down upon the table. “I want to take this one with me.”

George took the gallons and pointed to the temporary change rooms. When Harry came back, he got the tally and said, “I've got a Goblin thing on first thing in the morning on Wednesday. I'll come around straight after that, OK?”

He and Ron bid George and Fred the Ghost goodbye and left the shop, with Harry sporting his brand new t-shirt; emblazoned across the front of which was the slogan - I Fought Voldemort And All That He Hexed Was This Lousy T-Shirt.

* * *

**  
Author’s note: Well, here is the latest chapter and we have finally moved away from all the goblin stuff. It actually, I suppose, is the beginning of the story proper. I know that we have had nine previous chapters, but they have been largely set up and exposition.**

**Thanks go again to my wonderful beta Pixilanin who has been simply wonderful in her help to me in looking my work over. We actually had a slight detour from this story when we both worked upon a story that was inspired by a line from this story. Pix has done a wonderful job on the other one-shot, but I have been reluctant (not had the guts actually, I’m so not a Gryffindor) to go back to a story that is a bit of a smut fic about Mrs. Weasley and Kreacher. 8.**

****


	12. Chapter 11: Truth and Ice-Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left to their own devices, the two friends seek out some refreshment and Harry finds out a lot more is going on with his friend than he realised.

**Note: If I was writing about Barry and Ronaldo having Icecream and talking things over, well then it would all be mine I tells ya, all mine BWHA HA HA !**

... but, as you will no-doubt actually recognise the names of all the characters, all I am doing is playing in the sandbox of a very rich woman and she allows this because of her tolerance and generosity of spirit.

* * *

Chapter 11: Truth and Ice-Cream

 

Harry and Ron were at a bit of a loss.

They had almost two hours to wait until the return of their girlfriends, they could do whatever they wanted to. It was in the most magical and amazing Street in the entire United Kingdom, and they…

… well, they just didn't know what to do.

If they hadn’t only been here the day before. They'd had to wait for an hour or so yesterday - again for their girlfriends, who had been trying on dresses - so they'd explored everything they wanted to explore then. Well, except for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and that's where they’d just been today.

They walked, somewhat desultorily, up the street. Past Eyelops Emporium, where apparently toads were making a comeback as pets for Hogwarts: seen it. Past Quality Quidditch supplies and the new Comet 3.0, the latest latest in the shooting star series: seen it. Even more than just having seen it, being recognised and trading a bit on their war hero status, they'd even gotten to hold the new broom.

Harry missed Ginny, not that he didn't mind the company of Ron, but there were things that were more fun to do with Ginny that lost most of their shine when it was just him and Ron. But the girls disappeared a while ago, had someone to visit apparently.

“I wish Seamus and Dean were back,” Harry muttered, but they had business elsewhere too. Both of their old schoolmates had left them back when they were in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

Even though Harry's remark was sort of rhetorical, Ron said, “Nah, gives us a chance to have a little bit of a chat. Let's find somewhere to eat, I'm starved.” 

Harry looked around for a cafe or something like it, when he finally saw the perfect place. Without taking his eyes off it, he tapped Ron on the arm. “Hey mate, look.” He pointed up the street. “See what's reopened too?” 

It was Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. The sight of it made Harry realise, that with all the living hand-to-mouth while they were on the run from Voldemort, Harry didn't think he'd even had a lick of ice cream for over a whole year.

A big grin split Ron's face as he saw the newly reopened shop. “Yeah that's exactly what the healer conjured.” 

Harry couldn't remember the shop being open yesterday, but maybe it was and he simply hadn't noticed. Today, the tables and chairs were set up in front of the store just as they had been before the war.

“I wonder who's opened it up again?” Ron said, glancing up at the sign. “It still says Florean on the shop, but I thought he was, you know, dead.”

Ron came to an abrupt stop, so too did Harry beside him, because someone had emerged from the open doorway. Bedecked in an apron with the store’s name emblazoned on the front of it, it had to be a staff member at the least. But that wasn’t the really arresting thing. No, what had caused them to stop in amazement, even though it was impossible, was that the figure was Florean Fortescue himself, apparently risen from the grave.

He was laying tables with cutlery, but when he noticed the two boys staring at him, he stopped too and stared right back. The shop owner was the first to break the silence and rushed over to them. “Harry Potter,” he exclaimed, “as I live and breathe.” He shook Harry's hand vigorously. “My father told me so much about you, so much. How he gave you ice creams while you did your school assignments here.”

Up close, it was obvious that this was a much younger man than Florean had ever been in Harry's memory. Coupled with the mention of his father, it was an easy guess that this must, presumably, be a son, or the son, of Florean. Before Harry could say anything else, the proprietor dropped his hand and moved on.

“And Ron Weasley too, so pleased to meet you. I don't suppose …” Not letting go of Ron's hand, which he was still shaking, he peered around Ron, “... Hermione Granger isn’t anywhere around here too, is she?”

“No, she had to go off,” Ron managed to say.

“Pity, I'd like to have had all three of you here, but I suppose I'll have to settle for two out of the famous Trio.”

Harry was still looking a bit nonplussed, and the man responded to Harry's puzzlement. “I know all about you three, from the papers. You do know what they're calling you now, in all the papers, don’t you?”

Harry shook his head, but turned to Ron when Ron had just let out an, “oh” of recognition. Harry saw his mate beginning to turn red and turned back to the man, interested in hearing what he had to say.

“Why, they're calling you ‘The Golden Trio’, the Heroes of Hogwarts. Without your sterling efforts on behalf of wizardkind everywhere, we would never have seen the end of V-Voldemort and his pernicious Death Eaters.” Wizards had gotten so used to calling him you-know-who, that even now after his final defeat at the hands of Harry, people were still having trouble saying his name out loud. “Oh yes, I so would have liked a photo of the three of you eating …” But then he stopped. He’d been looking up, obviously picturing the photo, but now he dropped his gaze. “I don't suppose you're here to ... I mean, were you going to come into the shop?”

Harry could only grin into the earnest face before him and nod in confirmation.

“Wondrous day!” He grasped both Harry and Ron to him in a massive hug. “Two of the Golden Trio, here in my humble ice-creamery.” He let them go. “Come, come. You two will have whatever you want, on the house.”

“We couldn't do that.” Harry said.

“Speak for yourself,” Ron muttered in Harry's ear, as the boys followed him into his shop. 

The large man had already gotten behind the counter, by the time the two boys had ambled into the shop in his wake. He stooped down behind the glass counter, with the bays of ice creams behind the slightly frosted glass. Only to emerge seconds later with two bowls which he plonked upon the counter. “Though, Mr. Weasley, given your self-professed appetite, perhaps it is unwise of me to extend the offer of ‘whatever you want’ to you?” He said it with such a big grin on his face that it took any sting out of the words, but this personal detail about Ron, made Harry wonder how he knew so much about them.

Harry turned a mystified face to Ron and found him blushing again. He obviously knew Harry's unspoken question and so answered him, “I did an interview with Witch Weekly,” he said and, after a beat, dropped his eyes from Harry's, his famous blush beginning to spread across his cheeks.

“Yes, precisely Mr. Weasley,” boomed the proprietors voice, who’d obviously overheard Ron's quiet reply, that had been easy enough to hear in the empty shop. “That is why I already know your favourites.”

The boys looked up to see that one of the bowls was now full of ice cream, balled up from the scoop the man had used, and there, poking out at either end of the bowl, were the tips of a banana. Ron's eyes lit up and Harry couldn't have kept him away from the counter for all his gold in Gringotts.

“And for you, Mr. Potter, I do believe that I just may have crafted your favourite as well.”

As Harry approached the counter he could see that his bowl was still empty, but that must have been the point, because the proprietor tilted up the bowl to allow Harry to look inside. “Using a special technique, known only to myself, the very bowl itself is a treacle tart.” 

Harry looked into the bowl in astonishment. It was exactly as described, the bowl wasn't full of treacle tart, that would be a sickening amount of filling, instead there was a thin layer of the treacle filling over a crust, which was kept together by the thin metal bowl. Harry had no idea how it could have been cooked without the treacle mix settling at the bottom and not, as it was, evenly coating all the sides. It was an amazing feat of culinary engineering.

Seeing the delight in his eyes, the ice cream maker beamed. “And to top it off, our famous four bean vanilla, to bring out the flavour of the treacle.” Into the bowl, he scooped four healthily large scoops of white ice cream. “And perhaps, once you have tasted it, an endorsement as the favourite of Harry Potter, would be much appreciated. Unless I presume too much?”

Harry took the bowl in almost reverential awe, but he couldn't help a bit of cheekiness when he said, “if I like it.”

The man correctly judged Harry's manner and so he drew himself up to his full height. Almost comically, he slapped one hand to his chest and held the other one up with a flourish. “I wouldn't have it any other way. For am I not Fabian Fortescue, the inheritor of Florean Fortescue’s Five and Fifty Fabulous Flavours?”

Harry could do no less than taste it in front of the proprietor. He took the spoon that was sticking out of the confection, dug into one of those scoops of ice cream and then into the wall of the bowl - catching a decent amount of treacle tart along with the ice cream. The expression on Harry's face, when he put the spoon into his mouth, said it all. The hopeful expression upon Fabian’s face turned to one of delight as he knew that he'd nailed it.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said with his mouth full of another spoonful, “I'll definitely endorse this.” He paused in eating and said, “Thanks Mr Fortescue.”

“Think nothing of it. I'm glad to have met someone who was a personal favourite of my father's.”

At the mention of the former proprietor, Harry felt a wave of sadness descend over him. “I liked him, Mr. Fortescue.” Honesty forced Harry to add, “Well, who wouldn't like someone who gave them free ice cream.”

Fabian smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “I ... well,” he looked away from the boys and stared into the middle distance, “for the longest time I didn't.”

 

“He whipped his gaze back to Harry. “Look at me. I'm almost a Geminio of him, aren’t I.” He waved his arms around at the shop. “I grew up here, making ice cream alongside my father. My future, at ten years old, was decided for me for the rest of my life. So I rebelled, I'm sorry to say, I ran so very far away.” He returned his gaze to the middle distance, looking at things that were obviously lost in the past.

Harry wasn't so surprised how this virtual stranger was opening up and telling him such personal stuff. It had been happening a lot to him since the fall of Voldemort. Harry had, at first, feared that he'd be mobbed wherever he was to go, but it hadn't come to pass. There just weren't that many witches and wizards around to actually ‘mob’ him, as such. Instead what had happened was that strangers began to tell him personal stuff about their lives. 

Harry knew what lay behind it, from what he knew of the Muggle world; something he’d seen on TV once, about celebrities. He might not know any of these people, but they knew him, intimately and fairly thoroughly. They weren't opening up to a stranger, they were opening up to someone they knew as a friend, moreover a trusted friend who'd gone through a lot of hardships himself. It was the cult of celebrity that Harry had found himself having fallen into.

To be honest, Harry preferred this treatment to any one of the other bad options that he could think of, like fannish worship, for instance. No, this was more honest and healthy. He didn't mind hearing about people’s lives because he genuinely liked people. They weren’t looking to him for answers or solutions. All they wanted, for one moment, was a sympathetic ear.

Fabian came back from wherever he’d been. “But my father never gave up on me. He would always write to me every month, or two. Only with a few lines, if nothing was going on, or more if something happened, like when he met you.” He turned to Harry with that last and gave him a wink. “Ah, listen to me rattle on. Go and have your ice creams before they melt.”

Harry could still see the hurt behind the man's eyes. “I was really sorry to hear about what happened to your father. Are they sure …?”

“... that he's dead?” Fabian said back bluntly. “That he was murdered?” He sighed. “They are sure of both, sadly. The Aurors eventually did find his body and he had all the signs of being a victim of dark magic.” 

Harry saw a look of anger chase away the sadness on Fabian’s face. “This is what gets to me about it all.” He waved his hand back at the shop behind him. “I've looked through all of his records and there's nothing there: he wasn't a secret member of the Order of the Phoenix, or smuggling Muggleborns to safety, or anything like that. He wasn't anything else other than a nice old man who made ice cream. So why was he killed?” 

He looked plaintively at the boys, but the question was rhetorical, and they knew it. “I hate to think it, but what other answer is there? That he was killed by some Death Eater on a whim, because they didn't like the ice cream he served them. Or some other reason equally venal or stupid.”

There was nothing they could say in response. Luckily they were all spared having to try by the arrival of some other customers. 

Jovial Fabian Fortescue, whom they had encountered when they first arrived, was suddenly back. “Come in, come in. There's plenty of ice cream for everyone.” Without dropping the level of his voice much, he addressed Harry and Ron. “Is that all you require for the moment, Mr. Harry Potter, or you, Mr. Ron Weasley? Perhaps another scoop before you go?” He ladled a further scoop of ice cream into the bowl, that Harry was surprised to see, Ron had half finished already.

Ron took his bowl and said, “Thanks Mr Fortescue, it's delicious. You know,” he said, raising his voice to a similar level as the proprietor’s, “that Harry Potter and I would never think of eating ice cream anywhere else.”

Fabian beamed at them, and gave Ron a wink as they collect their bowls and went to sit down at a table outside. Harry was surprised to see that his ice cream hadn’t melted at all, and yet the treacle tart was still warm. 

“There must be a charm on the countertop.” Ron said and Harry looked up at him in surprise, “to keep what’s warm, warm, and what’s cold, cold. Ha, listen to me, I’ve been hanging around Hermione too long.”

Ron's observation surprised Harry. Not at the existence of the charm - that made sense - but at Ron making it. Harry hadn't seen much of Ron in the past few weeks. He'd been charging back and forth: to the Ministry, to Hogwarts, to the Goblins, to the Burrow, to Grimmauld Place. 

And with all that stuff yesterday, with the girls in Madam Malkin's, Ron had been smooth and frankly urbane. Also, that interview with Witch Weekly that Harry'd known nothing about. He had noticed a subtle and ongoing change in his friend, ever since he’d rejoined them after they’d destroyed the horcrux in the locket. A certain, real amount of his childishness had fallen away then and he’d been the glue that held their trio together. Up to his concern for the safety of the House-elves of Hogwarts during the final battle; the honest concern, no less, that had earnt him such kudos with his now girlfriend. 

But some of how Ron was behaving now left Harry scratching his head.

He took another spoonful of his treacle-tart-ice-cream-bowl combo. It really was the most amazing confection, and delicious too. He sat there musing about what Ron could have said in his interview. It was unlike Ron not to tell him about something so important, but on the other hand, it was also just like Ron not to tell him if it was embarrassing to him.

Ron broke the silence. “Well this is nice, isn't it. A moment to sit down and relax for once. I mean, not so much for me, but you - you've been jumping around all over the place, from what I can gather. You’ve been up to Hogwarts and back several times, and to the Ministry too. Not to mention all that stuff with the goblins …”

Harry paused in his eating and took a long look at his friend. Ron’s words, on the surface sounded ok, but there was something about his tone, something subtle, that only a long time friend would pick up. And he also wasn't looking at Harry. Not like he wasn't meeting his eyes deliberately, or anything like that, but addressing his comments to the empty air. 

Something was up, but Harry didn't know exactly what. 

“Oh yeah, there was one other thing, wasn't there,” Ron said in a way which Harry knew wasn't something that Ron had forgotten. Ron looked straight at Harry now as he said, “You also went and testified at the trial of Draco Malfoy. Didn't you Harry?”

A ball of ice formed in Harry’s chest at the words.

“And of course you went to testify against him. Didn’t you Harry? Because you know how much of an evil git he’s always been. I can't remember how many times he tried to get us in trouble. But, you know what, you probably didn't mention all of that, it was all schoolboy stuff, you’re bigger than that. No, you probably skipped ahead to when he became an actual Death Eater. You know, we both always suspected that was only a matter of time for him, but I must say, it still surprised me when he actually did it.”

“And I suppose you told the court some of the things he got up to as a Death Eater? How he let other Death Eaters into the castle. How badly he hurt Alicia. And, oh yeah, you remember that one little thing, how he almost killed me?”

The ball of ice that had formed in Harry’s chest, had now fallen downwards, and at Ron's last words, it hit the pit of his stomach with a clunk.

Ron didn't let up. His eyes bore into Harry's with the same intensity he was choosing his words. “You remember that, don't you? And it wasn't in some ‘oh I nearly killed you’ sort of way. No, no. It was me dying from a deadly poison and luckily having the cure close to hand.”

“You know what else?” His eyes narrowed, and Harry could tell that what he was saying, hit close to home for his old friend. “In all the close scrapes we’ve had, in all the years we've been fighting against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, that's the one that gives me nightmares. When I think about it: if you hadn't been around, because Slughorn was no use; if you hadn't pulled the swifty in the lesson with the bezoar, and if Slughorn hadn't put it into his bag; if you hadn't noticed he’d done it; and, if you hadn't pulled it out of the bag and given it to me, just in time, may I add - I have to say that I would’ve died. That's a lot of ifs, Harry. There's a lot of sheer luck in how I can still be sitting here today, alive and well.”

Harry was dumbfounded at Ron's words. As Ron had talked, Harry's arm had come slowly to rest upon the table top. It lay there now, the spoon forgotten in his hand.

He hadn't thought about Ron when he went to defend Draco. Hadn't thought what his reaction might be. He’d gone to defend Draco because that had been the right thing to do. He’d seen that Draco was changing, and that if he was given a second chance, he just might turn himself around. But Ron might not have seen that, and as much as Draco had hated Harry at school, he’d also equally hated Ron. So Ron might not be as forgiving. After all, as Ron had just reminded him, Harry hadn't been nearly killed by Draco, in the same way that Ron almost had.

“I'm … I'm sorry Ron. I didn't think.”

Ron shut his eyes at that, with his mouth clenched tight he shook his head slowly a couple of times. Opening his eyes he looked back at Harry, and Harry could see the anger there. “That's exactly,” he punched his finger downwards through the air, “exactly, why I'm pissed off with you. You didn't even think to talk to me about it: not the goblin stuff, or where you were going, what you were doing, and especially not the trial. I had to read about that in the paper, the fucking paper Harry!”

Harry's mind stripped a few mental gears, as he had to put it into reverse. So it wasn't the trial his mate was angry about, it was Harry not telling him what he was doing!?

He was trying to get his head around it, when he noticed Ron's expression. 

Ron, with the years of experience that he’d had being Harry’s best friend, could tell almost exactly what Harry was thinking. “I can see it on your face. It didn't even cross your tiny little mind, did it?”

 _’Ok, that's enough,’_ Harry thought and began to arc up about the ‘tiny little mind’ barb.

But he was pulled up short, when Ron said, “don't you fucking dare! Don't you dare get angry at me, just because I'm angry with you.”

Harry couldn't escape the justice of the accusation, so instead he said the other thing on his mind. “Language!”

“What!?” Ron asked incredulously.

“Where's all this foul language coming from?”

“Excuse me.” Ron said in mock contrition. “I forgot for a moment that I was in the presence of Harry Potter: The Boy Who Never Said Fuck.”

“You know what, Harry? I've been fighting Voldemort alongside you for years. I've just come through a battle where some good people, some people very close to me, died, after all that, gone are the days of ‘Merlin's saggy Y-fronts’, no, I think I've got the right to say ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’ every now and then. So what if I do say it, what’s it to you?”

Harry had to grit his teeth. He was trying really hard not to get angry at his mate and fall into the trap that Ron had pointed out: getting angry at Ron in turn, just because his mate was angry at him. “The Dursleys had their faults, believe me they have many, but one of them wasn't … I mean they didn't swear - not even Dudley - so I never grew up around swearing and I just don't like it it.”

There was a pause, and it was broken by Ron. “OK, OK, fair enough. I'll tone it down around you, but if something slips out now and then,” Ron shrugged, “well it does.”

Ron sighed. “Anyway, we're getting off track.” He took a breath in, marshalling his thoughts. “Look Harry, I'm not that angry with you, yeah? I'm ... I'm more upset than angry. It's not even the stupid trial. After I read about it - in the paper,” he quirked up one side of his mouth and one eyebrow then gave Harry a look through the tops of his eyes. The effect was so deliberately comically reproachful, that it forced a snort of laughter from Harry and considerably lightened the mood. “After that, I had to have a think about it - about Draco and all of it.”

Ron took a moment to think of what he wanted to say. Harry saw it and did not want to interrupt. Ron had calmed down considerably, and Harry owed it to him to hear his mate out.

“I'm not as noble as you are Harry. Like I'm glad it was you, not me, who had to go into the forest to be killed by Voldemort. I'd like to think that I'd have done something as brave, but …” he shrugged his shoulders. “So, I probably won't forget what Malfoy’s done to me in the past, as readily as you obviously have.”

He trailed off and played with the spoon next to his bowl. “We did save him, you and I, we actually saved his life twice during that battle. So I had to ask myself, had I forgiven him, subconsciously at least? I wouldn't have saved him otherwise, would I have?”

“And you know what came to my mind? Remember back in third year, when we were all in the Shrieking Shack, with Sirius and Lupin and Snape and Pettigrew? Remember all those guys from your father’s generation? They all hated each other: Lupin and Sirius were seriously going to kill Wormtail; and Snape hated Sirius so much, he was going to hand him straight over to the dementors.”

“That's what I thought about and I had to compare it to us. Even though Draco has been - and I won't say excuse me for swearing - he's been a real shit of a human being, but even with that, I don't want him dead. I don’t need to keep that sort of hate inside of me.” Ron must have thought of something because his earnest tone changed to one leavened with humour. “Though, punching him in the guts to save him, not only saved him, but it felt bloody good too.” Ron grinned at the memory and Harry did as well.

A silence fell across them both, one which Harry was loath to break. He took a couple more spoonfuls of his dessert and Ron took the opportunity to do so as well.

“So, it's not about the trial Harry, not really. It's about you and me, our friendship.” He paused, playing around with a scoop of ice cream, when he suddenly looked up from his dessert and looked straight at Harry. “You know you're not the Chosen One anymore.”

Whatever Harry thought Ron was going to say, it wasn’t that. He was trying to keep his cool, but he’d been trying to distance himself from that ‘Chosen One’ stuff for years. Somewhat testily, he blurted out, “Oh, come on Ron.”

“Harry, Harry,” Ron said back sternly, in the face of Harry's ire, and totally diffused it by saying, “I know what a load of bullshit, sorry, load of rubbish all of that ‘Chosen One’ crap was. But I also know how true it was too. It happened because those prophecies, of that bint, Trelawney, came true. And not in some mystical way,” he said, moving his hands about in a ‘spooky’ way as he made a face which showed his contempt of it all. “No, it came true because it came true.”

“It's like that stupid Time-Turner that Hermione had, remember it? What's the good of being able to go back in time? When whatever you do change, you just change it into the way it's always been. Useless.”

“But it was like that, yeah? But now that Voldemort's gone, now that you've got rid of him,” he tapped himself in the chest, “now that we've got rid of him, all of that stuff is over. You’re not the Chosen One anymore. You're my mate. And I've stood in your shadow quite a bit.” Harry looked askance at Ron, but Ron headed him off. “No, I did, and I'm ok with it, but not so much anymore.”

“Of course, you're always going to be the ‘famous Harry Potter’. But I’m … don't you know, I'm one of the ‘Golden Trio.” And he struck such an over-the-top pose, it forced a snort of laughter from Harry. “I'm getting my own fan-mail, being recognised,” He held out a spoonful of his dessert towards Harry. “Even free ice cream.”

“I've seen the stuff you’ve had to go through, and you know what, I'm happy that I'm getting only a tenth of what you have. But the reason for it Harry, it's over. Now you and I,” he waved his hand backwards and forwards between them, “we’re friends - not just friends actually, but best friends - and best friends don't keep stuff, as important as some of the things you've been doing, from each other. 

“Oh,” Ron said, just as Harry was busy digesting all that his mate was telling him. “I know that, with all that old defeating-Voldemort-horcrux-stuff, you had to keep a lot of it to yourself. You had to keep those secrets to protect us, but not anymore. Best friends talk to each other, share stuff with each other - important stuff. Now,” he sat back in his seat and held his hands out to Harry warding him off, “I don't want to hear anything that you're doing with Ginny.” His face turned dark and he adopted a way too serious voice, “not that you're doing anything untoward with my baby sister.” He lightened up again, “but apart from that, we talk about stuff together. Ok?”

Harry nodded back.

Another silence descended over both of them, but it wasn't unpleasant. Harry had a lot to think about and truth be told he could see the fairness of the accusations his mate had levelled at him. He hadn't thought, the idea had never crossed his mind, to tell his best mate all of the things he'd been doing, some of which, he should've realised, were quite personal to Ron. He’d gotten used to the secrecy, and fell into the old patterns of it by habit.

They sat there together, quite companionably, tucking into the ice cream which was still surprisingly cold, given the nature of the balmy day. Harry looked down the street. He was facing away from the Leaky Tavern, and saw crowds of happy shoppers almost all the way to Gringotts. When he saw a face in the crowd that he recognised, a plan of action sprang to his mind.

“Hey Ron,” he said brightly, “in our new spirit of communication, I've got a plan. You see that guy?” He pointed behind Ron and Ron had to turn to look. “That guy with the bald head and glasses, bit fat around the middle? The one in the blue shirt and suit.”

“Oh, Ok, yeah. Who is it?” Ron asked, turning back to Harry.

Harry waved for the man's attention, and when he got it, waved for him to come over. 

“That’s the lawyer who I worked with on Draco’s trial. I was thinking that it might be good if we asked him about your mum.”

“Seriously?” Ron's eyes lit up at the prospect, but then his face fell again. “But we can't afford a lawyer.”

“Don't worry, I'm paying.”

“Harry …” Ron began getting angry, after all he’d said to him, Harry still was trying to give him charity.

“No Ron, it’s not for you. Your mum's taken me in and she's given me a home better than any I've ever had.” Ron stopped bristling at Harry's words. “I could pay for fifty lawyers, and I still couldn't pay her back for what she's done for me.”

Ron visibly relaxed and then a smirk came to his features. “And I suppose that it's a bit of guilt tax. Compensation for you keeping me in the dark so much.”

Harry's mouth dropped open, “you cheeky…” 

But they both burst into laughter. Laughter that was washed away some of the seriousness that had gone before. So it was, that when Andrius came up to them, it was to find them both laughing companionably together.

“The ice cream’s that good, is it?” He asked good-naturedly. “I knew that the place was reopening,” he peered into the dark interior, “but I didn't know who…” He broke off as his face lit up in surprise, “Good Lord, that can't be … can it?”

Ron chuckled, “No, that's his son, Fabian. We made the same mistake when we first saw him.”

“Oh, OK then, didn’t even know he had a son.”

“Same here,” Ron said, still amused.

It caused Andrius to look down at Ron and nodded with a wry smile, but then he remembered his manners. “Do excuse me, we haven't met, but you must be Ron Weasley, must you not?” And he thrust out a hand for Ron to shake. “I’m Andrius Barlow, and for my sins I've become the first proper Wizarding attorney.”

After dropping Ron’s hand, he turned his attention to Harry. “Hi, Harry. Is this just a social call, or did you want something?”

“Yeah, actually I did.”

Andrius dropped his shoulders dramatically and said in a falsely mournful voice. “No one ever wants me, for me.”

Harry shook his head, used to the man's manner. He saw Ron grinning and could see that Ron was inclined to approve of the lawyer already.

Andrius straightened back up with a grin of his own. “So, what do you want?”

“I don't know if you know,” Harry said, getting straight to the point, “but Ron's mum - that’s Mrs. Molly Weasley - is facing a trial?”

Andrius turned serious, he looked over at Ron and nodded. “Yes I did know. I was in the sitting of the Wizengamot, when they read into the minutes the list of actionable and non-actionable cases arising from the rise and reign of Voldemort. Your mother’s name, and what she was accused of, was on the actionable list.”

Both boys were a little lost, and Andrius could see it. “Mind if I take a seat?” He barely waited for a nod before pulling out a chair, turning it around and sitting down upon the backwards facing chair, resting his arms over the back of it. “The cases arising from the period that is now being referred to as the second rise of Voldemort, and the year of his effective reign straight after, are the offences that we know to have been committed at that time. The Wizengamot has been effectively on hold, all this time, under the overwhelming threat of the Dark Lord and his followers.” He snorted. “There were a few sessions of the Wizengamot held during the time, but they were all a joke. The first thing the Wizengamot declared, in their first session after the fall of Voldemort, was that all of those laws passed during that time were invalid. Not only that, they repealed all the decisions made then, as well.”

Andrius shifted about on his chair, getting more comfortable. “So they had to go through all the decisions that had been made since then, and ratify any that were done for the common good and should stand. But there was also a whole slew of crimes that had not only gone unpunished, but also a lot of them weren’t even unacknowledged.”

“There were basically two sorts of crimes, misdemeanours, whatever you want to call them, from that time. The first are the Non-Actionable Offences. Those are the ones where there was obviously a crime but no obvious culprit. Like, um,” he rubbed his chin, thinking, “of course, like Madam Bones. She was murdered and definitely by Death Eaters because they found the bloody Dark Mark over her house. But exactly who killed her may never be known.”

“The second type, are the Actionable Offenses, and I believe your mother’s offence falls into this category.” He said, turning his attention to Ron. “Where there is direct evidence of a crime and witnesses, so that we know who to put on trial for that particular crime. That is the case with your mother, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” Ron had to agree, somewhat begrudgingly. “I'm afraid there's no doubt of it. They were fighting, duelling, and Mum cast a spell at her and … well, that was it.”

“Hmm.” Andreas rubbed his chin again. “And she used the unforgivable?”

It was Harry who spoke. “No.”

“What?” Ron said, looking up in surprise.

“No, she definitely didn't. Didn't you see, Ron?”

Ron shook his head, “No, I was too busy fighting. I mean, I saw Mum, bits of it, and her dueling. I saw Bellatrix fall, but I couldn't see what spells they were using.”

“But you saw it all, Mister Potter?” Andrius asked, subconsciously falling into his lawyer mode.

“Yeah. I was side on, saw it all clear as day. They were using non-verbal spells, but I could see it clearly and the spell Mrs. Weasley hit Bellatrix with, was definitely not the actual Avada Kedavra. I should know,” Harry said, tapping his forehead, “I've had a fair amount of experience, first hand, with The Killing Curse.”

Andrius let out a bark of laughter. “Well, I suppose I couldn’t ask for more of an expert witness than that.”

Ron piped up. “And it's not like she did it for herself, she was protecting Ginny and Hermione.”

“And Luna too, don't forget.” Harry added.

“Was she there?”

“Yeah, she was. You must have missed her, with the crowd getting in the way.” 

“Ok, so her too.” Ron amended. “But Mum was protecting the girls. She only stepped in when they were losing. That has to count for something, doesn't it?”

“It does, very much.” Andrius revolved his index finger in the air in front of them. “Elaborate for me, please, because I haven't heard this before. So your mother wasn't fighting Bellatrix the whole time?”

“Yeah, she wasn't, but you saw it better than me, Harry, you tell him.”

“Ok, Ron. We were all fighting. Voldemort, and the Death Eaters that were left, were all falling back to the Great Hall. And Ginny and Hermione, and Luna too, were fighting her, I mean Bellatrix, and she was cackling at them and taunting the girls. And the girls were actually holding their own, just. But then she shot a killing curse, Bellatrix I mean, and you could tell she was just playing with them. She was really nasty. I don't know if you know what she was like?”

“Oh yes, I went to school with her. When I was in first year, she was in fifth or sixth year, I think, but she was hard to miss. Even then she was awful - evil and nasty to anyone who wasn’t Slytherin.”

“So they were battling her,” he prompted.

“Yeah, um, and … and it started to become clear, Bellatrix was not only toying with them, that she was going to win. I was getting anxious, I wanted to jump in, but then Mrs. Weasley did. Initially, Bellatrix treated her with contempt, said she was ‘just a housewife’, something like that, but it wasn't long till she found out that she had a real fight on her hands. The duel played out after that, both of them sending spells at each other so fast, until it's eventual conclusion - Mrs. Weasley sent a spell at Bellatrix that got under her guard and down she went. But it wasn’t the Killing Curse, I’ll swear to that.”

“Duration?” Andrius asked. 

“Um,” Harry shrugged and looked at Ron. Ron shrugged back. “I don't know a minute or two, I suppose.”

“And did Molly Weasley say anything during the fight? Specifically, any deadly threats like, ‘I'll kill you’, or, ‘you deserve to die.’ Anything like that?”

“Oh, no.” Harry said, “she said nothing during the fight. Even when Bellatrix was taunting her. The only thing she said,” Harry broke off and looked at Ron. Ron nodded for him to continue. “The only thing she said, and it was when she joined the fight - ‘Get your hands off them, you bitch.”

“Ah, good, good. The mother's instinctual urge to protect her children.” He turned his gaze from Harry and Ron, and looked into the middle distance, rubbing his chin again. “We can certainly use that. Hmm.”

He sat in thought for a bit, but Ron was busting to ask. “So, you going to defend my mum then?” 

“Hmm,” he said, quite distractedly, “probably not, actually.”

Ron sat back in surprise, and Harry could see the surprise turning quickly to anger. Truth to be told, Harry wasn't that pleased himself.

Andrius pulled himself back back into the present, and saw the young men’s blossoming anger. He forestalled them with a wave of his hand. “I'll certainly take your mother's case, don’t fret on that, but I don't know if it would serve your mother's best interest if I was seen to defend her.”

It totally derailed Ron. “Huh?”

Andrius explained. “A lot of the Death Eaters are going on trial, and they are all lawyering up. Very few of the so-called wizarding lawyers have actually studied law, as I have done, so many of those going on trial have asked after me and want me to defend them.” He made a quotes in the air as he said, “‘You got Draco off’, not that I did, but that’s what they think. I won't have most of them, unlike some of my colleagues, across the pond, the lawyers in England serve the law, and thereby, supposedly, Justice. Morally, we should not take any clients on when we know that client is guilty. Except to plead mitigating circumstances and, or to plead for leniency, as I did for your schoolmate, young Master Malfoy.”

“If I were to show up with your mother, it might make her look guilty in the eyes of the Wizengamot.” He tapped his chin with his finger, “I'll put some feelers out to my contacts in the Wizengamot, see what I can find out.”

Something made him look at his watch and he started in shock. “Blast, is that the time?” He came to his feet. “I have to go, but can you bring Mrs. Weasley in to see me sometime this week?”

“I'm coming in for something on Wednesday morning, how about in the afternoon?”

“Good, I've got something on in the morning too, but I think the afternoon will be fine. We’ll owl each other to confirm, Ok?”

With that, he made his farewells and was gone.

Harry let out a long breath, Ron did too.

“Um, Harry,” he said he said, a bit sheepishly, which drew Harry's full attention. “Thanks for this, mate.”

“That's Ok.” He knew what would put his mate at ease, so he added. “And I'm doing it for your mum, remember. She shouldn't have to go to Azkaban for killing Bellatrix, she should get a bloody medal.”

It made Ron grin again, but something over Harry’s shoulder caught Ron's attention, and his grin widened. “Oh hey, the girls are finally back.”

Before Harry could look around, the grin disappeared off his mates face and Ron shot to his feet. 

Harry was close behind him, springing around to see what was wrong. The girls had seen them and were coming over. As they came closer, Harry could see what had drawn Ron’s attention. Hermione was full on crying and Ginny was little better.

Ron stepped forward and caught her up in his arms. “What's wrong, Hermione, what's wrong?”

During the previous year, when someone had read out bad news, Ron had taken to asking, ‘who’s died?’ He relapsed back into this old habit and asked now, “Hermione, who’s died?”

To his, and Harry's, consternation she didn't correct him. He tilted her head up and looked into her eyes. He loosened his grip so that he could see her properly.

“Oh, Ron,” she sobbed, “it's Lavender. Lavender’s dead.”

“No,” Ron said sharply.

“No,” he said releasing his arms from round his girlfriend and dropping them to his side. 

“No.” He was shaking his head and taking small, staggering steps backwards.

“No!” He said forcibly, strongly, but there was a quaver in his voice. “Not one of us, Hermione, not one of us.” He was almost pleading with her. “They all died,” he said, waving his arm backwards encompassing all that they’d lost, “my own brother died,” he thumped his chest with a finger, “but we were,” he broke and let out a sob, “we were supposed to be safe.”

The back of his legs hit a low table behind him and he sat, almost falling backwards, down upon it.

Hermione, who had been crying silently, with both hands pressed to her mouth, was watching her boyfriend stagger back, but as he fell she almost leapt to him. She gathered him to her and hugged him tight. Sitting, as he was upon the table, his head didn't even come up to her chin. He buried his head in her chest and cried. “Not one of us,” he whispered out between sobs.

Ginny made a sound and Harry turned his head away from Ron to see her standing there crying too. It was as much for the agonies of grief her brother was going through as her own. He opened his arms to her as she flew to him, crying gently into his chest - like her brother was doing with Hermione. Harry rocked her gently, his mind full of white noise. It was awful, that the horrors that Voldemort had unleashed upon the world, through his selfishness and cowardice, still had enough strength that they could reach them, after his death, and still cause harm.

* * *

**  
Author's Note: This chapter was once again made possible by the sterling efforts of my beta, Pix, who had a hole in her schedule and could fit the chapter in. Many thanks for the many commas and the many forgotten capitals.**

**A big portion of this chapter comes from a critic (and a critique too, I suppose) of the first chapter of this story - the prologue that features the trial of Draco Malfoy. There were some, especially one person, who was so upset that Harry would betray his mate by defending their one-time rival. Now I just thought it was the right thing to do, and it's what I thought Harry would think as well, so I wrote it. I totally forgot what Ron's reaction to it might have been.**

**And that's what got me to write this chapter, if I'd forgotten, maybe Harry had too. That would explain why it hadn't been addressed earlier, it would also fit in with some of the strains upon their friendship that had occurred in the last part of JKR's books as well as the beginning of my story. It fit in and, I believe, worked. I hope you think so too.**

**It also gave me an opportunity to give my take on the death of Florean Fortescue - the one character JKR has publicly said she regretted killing off. Of them all he was the only one!? I hope you like what I have done with it.**

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	13. Chapter 12: Lavender Brown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sad fate of Lavender Brown is gone into and we see how her passing has affected her friends.

**Note: If I was writing about Barry and his friends at the funeral of their old school mate, Lilac Black, well then it would all be mine I tells ya, all mine BWHA HA HA !**

... but, as you will no-doubt actually recognise the names of all the characters, all I am doing is playing in the sandbox of a very rich woman and she allows this because of her tolerance and generosity of spirit.

* * *

Chapter 12: Lavender Brown

 

They stood there for a time, the world turning around them, lost in their grief. Hermione eventually straightened up. “Ron,” she said, not expecting a verbal response. She repeated herself. “Ron, I think we should go back to the hospital.”

He wiped at his eyes, which really did nothing to stem the stream of tears. He looked up at her, nodding briefly. Coming uncertainly to his feet, he held out his hand and took hers. In an unspoken bit of communication, Hermione knew that he didn't trust himself to apparate and would side-along with her.

She looked over at Harry. “Harry?” she asked, not needing to say more.

He nodded in confirmation. With a crack, his friends were gone. “Ginny?” She nodded without raising her head, and Harry apparated them both to St. Mungos.

 

\--o-O-o--

 

The two couples arrived at the ward to find Seamus and Dean huddled close together. The two boys split apart at the sound of them approaching and Harry could now see why they had both been so close together. Parvati was revealed, standing behind them. 

She was a mess, barely managing to stand without the assistance of the two boys beside her. She lifted a tear strained face as she heard their approach and her eyes widened as she saw who they were. Leaping forwards, she rushed over to them. Harry thought she was headed for Hermione, but to his surprise, and hers, it was Ron Parvati threw her arms around.

“She's dead, Ron,” she howled, “Lavender’s de-dead.” She sobbed, clutching him.

The usual awkwardness that Ron had over hugging crying girls was gone, subsumed by his grief. They were about as tall as each other so that they rested their heads on each others shoulders. Parvati’s presence brought fresh tears to Ron’s eyes and all he could say back in return was, “I know.”

After a moment or two, Parvati pulled back, coming out of the tight embrace. “She loved you, you know?”

If her words hurt Seamus, Harry couldn't tell from his already grief stricken face.

But what Ron said next might have comforted him. “Yeah I know, but I didn't love her back as much as she deserved. When I saw her last, she seemed happier with Seamus than she'd ever been with me.”

“I,” Parvati begun, but she stumbled to a halt. “I … loved her too.” She blurted it out beginning to cry again. She buried her face into Ron's chest once more. Even though she said it softly, in the silent ward they could all hear her say, “and I never got the chance to tell her.”

“Oh, Parvati,” Ron said comfortingly and patted her on the back.

Harry looked at Hermione and could see that this ‘news’ of Parvati’s might not have been unknown to her. It explained so much about Parvati, he suddenly realised, but it broke his heart when he thought about what she must be going through. Hermione dropped Harry's gaze and walked a few steps towards them and reached an arm around Parvati's back. Parvati let Ron go with the arm that was closest to Hermione and snaked that arm around her.

The hug went on in silence, apart from a few muffled sobs, until they were all interrupted when the ward doors opened. A middle aged couple came out, followed by a healer then … it was Lavender. They were all astounded, not wanting to break the silence and somehow dispel Lavender’s return. But when she turned around, they knew their error. The woman’s face wasn’t Lavender’s, just her hair had misled them. Another man had exited behind her and he now gripped her arm. He looked far more like Lavender, than the woman did; the same soft features that Harry knew so well from Lavender’s face were repeated there. It could only have been Lavender’s parents.

The woman was talking to the healer. “...but she seemed to be much better only two days ago?”

“Yes,” the healer replied, “but never coming out of the coma was not a good sign. The potions …”

But he was cut off by Lavender’s dad. “You said those potions would work.”

“I said they might,” corrected the healer, “and, initially, yes,” he nodded at bit Lavender’s mum, “they did seem to be working, but you saw how she was over the last few days?”

Lavender's father spoke again. “But couldn't you have tried other potions? Stronger potions?”

“We used the strongest we had.” The Healer said remorsefully.

The other man, who’d come out with them, had been bursting to say something. He’d been nervously glancing back into the ward, from which he’d come. He now blurted out, “She's not going to come back, is she?”

The other adults all turned to look at him.

“We don't have to tie her down, or something, in case she ‘turns’, do we? I mean, she was bitten by a werewolf, one of the undead, shouldn’t we take precautions?”

The woman by side said, “No, that's not how it works. That’s Muggle werewolves, I mean made up ones. Real ones just turn into a wolf on the full moon, they're not Undead, love. Lavender’s not coming back.”

The woman heard what she’d just said and started crying again, hugging the man. He put his arm around her shoulders and said, “Oh, right,” but he looked only slightly mollified.

Lavender’s dad turned back, to ask something of the healer again, but the healer had seen his chance, and had made his escape while they had been distracted. What it meant was, that when Lavender’s dad turned around, what he saw was all of them, halfway up the corridor. “You!” he said angrily. “Where were you when my daughter was being attacked?”

He glared up at them, but he wasn't the only one to have noticed them. They were momentarily distracted from his ire by a little girl. She had been hidden behind the adults when they were talking to the healer, but now he was gone, the young girl was revealed. With a shriek of, “Parvati!” the girl sped forwards and ran up to them. Parvati bent down to receive her hug. “It's so sad what happened to Lavender, isn't it?”

“I know,” Parvati said hugging the little girl to herself fiercely. 

Lavender's father was not to be distracted from what he wanted to say, though. “Where were you all?” He asked again. “Why weren't you looking after her?”

“Hey,” Sheamus was getting angry himself, “we were all fighting for our lives. We tried to look out for each other, but she got lost in the fighting, and Greyback got to her.”

“You,” Lavender's father said scornfully, “her supposed new boyfriend. You know she didn't love you.” He said it testily, designed to hurt. His angry eyes found Ron. “Nope, it was you she thought she loved, but you weren't there when she needed you, were you? No, you threw her off for that,” he said distastefully, looking at Hermione, “that piece of trash.”

“Hey!” Ron said, becoming angry himself. He had met Lavender’s father before and knew how close the two of them were, but that didn’t excuse his intemperate words. “I don't care how you talk about me, I know I let Lavender down, but you don't talk that way about Hermione.”

Tempers were rising, inflamed by the already raw nerves, occasioned by the death of someone they all loved. Lavender’s Mum was pulling at the sleeves of her husband’s robes. “Hubert, no.” She was pleading with him. “Not here, not when our daughter's,” her voice caught, “body is lying in there. You know what it was like when we left school. Some of our friends were killed then, your mate McKinnon for one, and one of my best friends, Lily. Remember?” She was actually getting a bit heated with him. “Should I take you downstairs to where Alice and Frank are?”

“It's not these kid’s fault. It's not. We couldn't save our friends and they couldn't save theirs. It was V-Voldemort and his awful, disgusting, bloody,” she was obviously a woman not used to swearing, and she was working herself up to it, “bloody assholes of Death Eaters, who murdered them.”

Her husband allowed himself to be placated at her words, but the angry scowl never left his face and he kept sending glares in the direction of Harry and his friends.

The little girl in Parvati’s arms was hushed by the harsh words that has flown across the corridor, causing her to hold her tongue, but Harry could see that she had something she wanted to say. Sadness and grief could only hold an eleven year old’s attention for so long, their world was often only about them. Harry could tell that she was genuinely sad at Lavender’s passing, but she couldn’t keep her news her own for any longer. Excitedly she tugged at Parvati’s robes, “You'll never guess, ‘varti, but I got my Hogwarts letter!”

“I'm so happy for you,” Parvati said to the young girl, managing a teary sort of smile.

The pleasure of the little girl didn't last long. Her father - the other man amongst the adults - snorted and said, “No Way!”

His wife turned around in their embrace to look at her husband, “John? What?”

He pointed back at the ward from when he from whence they’d come. “If you think our daughter is attending that school, where her cousin was basically killed, then you’re absolutely crazy!”

“No, John, it's not like that.” His wife said, almost in tears.

The little girl couldn’t believe it, she was howling and crying against Parvati’s chest.

“Not like that?” Her husband asked, astounded by his wife’s words. “Didn't you just hear your sister say that you knew people, boys and girls from your precious school, who were killed, murdered just after they left? And how many kids did you go to school with? Forty in your year, forty in theirs.” He pointed at his wife and then at his brother-in-law, emphasising his words. “There were hundreds of kids in my year at school and not one of them, not one, was murdered. And not one of their kids, either.”

“Now get your daughter. I want to be gone from this place of crazy people and wizards and werewolves.” 

Lavender’s aunt approached them, crying gently.The little girl had hugged herself to Parvati and didn't want to let go. Her mother tried to pry her away, but she resisted, crying mightily. There was no separating her from Parvati, until her mother said, “if you don't come with me now, your father will come and get you himself.”

The threat of her father's involvement seemed to work. It didn’t stop the girl protesting though. “I want to go Mum. He can't stop me.”

“Shhh Darling, everyone's a bit sad at the moment. We’ll see what’ll happen.” 

“Um, Mrs. Johnson?” Parvati asked hesitantly, before the woman could walk away. “When's the funeral?”

“Tomorrow,” the woman replied, but she looked over her shoulder at the stormy visage of her brother-in-law and then back at Parvati, “but it's ... it's family only dear.”

She took her daughter and rejoined her husband. They left, but Lavender’s mum and dad turned and went back into the ward, where their daughter’s body lay - effectively preventing any of them from seeing Lavender.

Parvati crumbled and was caught by Seamus and Dean. They all stood there, looking at each other and wondering what on earth they were to do. 

 

\--o-O-o--

 

Eventually they washed up in the hospital canteen, sitting around, nursing insipid cups of tea and lost in their own thoughts. Any conversation they tried to start soon died. Died in the oppressive atmosphere of their mutual grief.

The main doors to the canteen were open, so there was no sound when Mrs. Brown came in to join them. She was almost upon them before anyone noticed she was there. “Parvati?” she said into the silence the room.

Parvati jerked her head up. Her chair scraped backwards as she stood, falling over with a loud clanging sound. She raced around the table to the older witch. “Mrs. Brown,” she cried and they embraced.

Mrs. Brown was stroking Parvati’s hair. “Oh, Parvati dear, it's so sad.”

Parvati drew herself from the embrace of the older witch, still holding her arms, looking at the woman with such a distraught expression. “Mrs. Brown I'm so sorry. I should have been with her, I should have helped.”

“No, no,” the older witch said, “it's not your fault. If you'd been with her you might have died too. I know what it's like, Pavati, to lose friends. I lost Marlene and Lily and even Alice too for all intents and purposes. And I wasn't that much older than you are now.”

They hugged together again and everybody was silent for their shared grief. Lavender’s mother was taking it surprisingly well, considering that her daughter’s body was in a ward somewhere over their heads. Harry had seen a lot of grief in his time and, again, he strongly suspected that the older witch was using a calming draught.

“The funeral is tomorrow, but my sister was right, it's a Brown family tradition that there is only family at the funeral, and after ... well …” She sighed, “you saw the way Hubert was, you know he's not like that normally, but,” she shrugged, “I think it's best if you weren't to be seen.”

“But you can’t not come. La-*” She broke with a sob, not able to say her daughter’s name. “She would want you to be there, and her other friends too. She loved you all so much and was the proudest of being a Gryffindor with you all.” She looked around at them. “On Tuesday, if you want to, all of you, and anymore you think should be there, you can come and have a gathering at her grave.”

“Oh, yes please Mrs. Brown, yes please.” Parvati was nodding fervently, tears in her eyes.

Mrs. Brown nodded back. “I'll send you an owl with the details. Now, I have to get back to my husband.” 

With a kiss to Parvati, she was gone.

 

\--o-O-o--

 

It was a sombre group that apperated to the little Muggle cemetery on Tuesday morning. The weather chose to reflect the feelings of the mourners - it was grey and overcast and dismal.

Parvati met them at the cemetery gate. She and her sister had organised everything: from owling everyone the details of where to meet to organising the wizard who was always the one who seemed to officiate at these sort of things. Lavender’s mum was right beside her, thanking everyone as they came and shaking their hands. Lavender’s mum had obviously been crying, but for the moment, she was holding it together. 

They had not really known what to wear, except for good clothes, but in Parvati’s invitations, she had specifically asked them all to wear their school robes with smart clothes underneath. At her further insistence, all had worn their school ties too. It was a peculiar request, probably the last time most of those gathered would wear them - few were going back to school as Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione were - but who was going to argue against what Parvati wanted on this day.

They gathered around, just inside the lychgate, awaiting all the mourners. It wasn't just the group that had been at the hospital yesterday, who were expected - Parvati and Padma had contacted a whole list of their Hogwarts friends. Neville, of course, was the other person who Harry was particularly expecting to see, and he apparated in before Seamus and Dean did.

It was hard, in these sort of gatherings, not to be too happy in seeing old friends. There were smiles as they greeted him: “hi mate,” “how’s it going,” and so on. But smiles soon faded, replaced by sombre visages when they remembered why they were here.

Ron looked around and behind Neville when they saw him. “What, Luna not with you?”

A moment's displeasure crossed his face as he replied. “No she had, um, she said that she hardly knew Lavender. But I said, that's not the point. But then she said, that she'd feel uncomfortable and she didn't want to come.” He ended, shrugging his shoulders, but Harry could see that Neville wasn't happy with Luna’s decision.

Hannah arrived and Harry didn't need Hermione’s whisper to Ron, to remember that Hannah often worked at the table with Lavender and Parvati in herbology.

People were arriving steadily, apparating in under the large oak that obscured the view of the cemetery from the road and thus hid their activity from prying Muggle eyes. A photo of the oak had been included in the letter they had all received, so that they knew where to appear.

There had been a lot of Gryffindor ties, a few Hufflepuff ones and a smattering of Ravenclaw ties too - Cho was one of those. So it really stood out when the next two people to arrive were wearing ties of green and silver. 

It caused a bit of a stir. Harry could see Ron brisling, but it was Seamus who rudely said, “What are you doing here?”

The older girl, who Harry recognised as Daphne Greengrass from their year, was stony faced and only frowned at Seamus’s intemperate words. The younger girl with her though, started to cry - actually it was a case of beginning to cry again, because it was obvious that she been more than simply teary before.

“She,” the girl managed to get out between sobs, “she was nice to me. She s-saved me from the Carrows. W-we just wanted to say goodbye.” She was honestly entreating them to believe her. Daphne had reached out and placed a comforting hand upon the younger girl's shoulder, steadying her.

Ron, in a whisper from the side of his mouth, asked the question that Harry wanted to know the answer to too. “Who is she?”

Before anyone could answer him, it was Ginny who was pulling herself from Harry's arm and walking quickly to the crying girl. “Astoria.” Ginny said half as a greeting, half to calm her.

“Ginny,” Astoria said, “you were there, you can tell them ...”

Ginny overrode her. “Hush now, it's Ok.” She reached the girl and smiled kindly at her. “Lavender was really brave that day, wasn't she?”

Astoria’s bottom lip started to quiver, not trusting herself to speak, all she could do was nod as fresh tears came to her eyes. Ginny reached out a hand and took one of Astoria’s. “Come on. Come with me,” and she led the girl up the slight rise of the path, into the graveyard proper, where the other mourners had been directed.

Daphne was left standing there, facing some stares that, even after what her sister had said, were still a little hostile. “Lavender earnt my respect for what she did for my sister. She did not deserve to die.” She looked over to Parvati and addressed her directly. “Parvati, I thank you for the invite. It was nice of you to even think of my sister and I at all. I do appreciate it.”

Parvati nodded at her and Daphne gave a short, sharp nod back. With a glance around, she moved to follow her sister.

More people arrived after the Greengrass sisters and one of the last to arrive was Fay Dunbar. One of the other girls who shared a dorm with Hermione and Lavender and Parvati. She had been close enough to the other Gryffindor girls, sharing a dorm will have that advantage at least, but she spent far more time around her other friends. 

She'd come from a town that had only two wizard families. So she’d grown up very close to them, particularly a boy from the other family who was the same age and more like a brother to her than just a friend. He was sorted into Hufflepuff, when he came to school, and Fay went into Gryffindor. It didn't affect their friendship one bit and so, consequently, she mostly hung around with him and not the rest of the Gryffindor girls. The thing was, she’d taken with her the fifth and final Gryffindor girl of their year, so they were both usually to be found together and not found with the other Gryffindor girls.

Harry looked around and couldn't see the quiet girl with long plaits, Fay’s ‘shadow’. The same thought must have occurred to Hermione, because after they greeted each other, Hermione looked around behind Fay, saying, “Where's your friend?”

The question was asked in all innocence, but Fay teared up and began to cry. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know today's Lavender’s day, but,” she looked into Hermione's eyes, “no one's seen her since the battle of Hogwarts. There's no trace of her. No one's even ... even,” she started crying in earnest and hunched over herself, “found her body.”

Hermione rushed to her side and hugged the obviously bereft girl, but while she was soothing her, she couldn't help but look up at Parvati. They shared a long look and Harry didn't need Legilimency to know what it meant: of the five Gryffindor girls that had been, they were now down to only three. 

 

\--o-O-o--

 

The ceremony was moving, as they usually were.

Parvati delivered the eulogy well and emotionally. Padma was by her side and had to catch her and prop her up once or twice. It brought tears to everyone's eyes, by the end of it, but during the talk, she elicited some smiles and even some laughter, as they all remembered the sometimes silly girl who, along with Parvati, believed a bit too much in Divination and wrongly thought it would show them who they'd marry and what the future would bring.

“And in everything we thought we'd ever saw, in tea leaves or crystal balls, I never even once saw the girl that I loved, dead and buried at my feet with no future at all.”

She collapsed completely after saying that and was hugged and comforted by her sister and Mrs. Brown too. She must have been meaning to do something, but couldn't, given her emotional state. Padma stood, and even though she spoke quietly, nearly everybody heard her ask Mrs. Brown - “is it still Ok for me to do it?”

The older witch nodded back to her, not letting Parvati go. Padma walked around the headstone of the gravesite, taking out her wand as she did so. With a nonverbal spell, she lifted the dirt out of the grave that the gravediggers had only put in the day before. She put her wand away and walked back to her sister. “Parvati?” she asked.

Parvati slowly disentangled herself from Mrs. Brown and Padma helped her over to the grave. Parvati looked down into it, and seeing the exposed coffin robbed her of the power to stand. She collapsed to her knees, with Padma crouched next to her holding a hand across her shoulders. With shaky hands and trembling fingers, she slowly reached up and haltingly undid her tie. Once it was off, she put it up to her lips and kissed it, whispering, “I Love You, Lavender Brown,” and she dropped it down into the grave and onto the top of the coffin of her best friend.

Padma helped her up and back to a seat, then she returned to the grave, taking her own Ravenclaw tie off and likewise dropping it into the open pit.

She moved out of the way as, one by one, people moved to the grave and threw in their ties - honouring the girl who, by the end of her too brief a life, had earned the respect of every House of Hogwarts.

* * *

**This chapter is very sad, but I’m so happy with the result. I was going to leave Lavender alive and well and probably married to Sheamus, but when researching about stuff on the Harry Potter Wiki, I found out that she had died during the battle, or at least from her wounds sustained during the battle. Oh well, I thought, it was more grist for my story. The way the characters were acting, with no reference to her death, I stretched it out to have her in intensive care for the weeks since the battle. I had that scene of Ron come into my mind, the one from the previous chapter where he has convinced himself that all of them were going to be safe - that the death and mayhem visited upon so many others was going to be balanced by all of ‘his’ group coming through it safely.**

**As to the other Gryffindor girls, I had no idea that they even existed. There is no mention of them at all in the books, not one skerrick. Apparently, JKR has them in her fabled ‘book’ that she wrote with all the planning for the series, but she has not officially said who they were. When she was asked in an interview, she had forgotten and so didn’t say. We only know Fay Dunbar because she is mentioned in one of the video games. The other girl has a presence in the movies, hence we know that she has redish pigtails, but that’s about it. I thought that I would give them some screen time at least, and the one that we don’t even know, an honourable death.**

**Now I have heard that there is some controversy over the naming of the girls in the Harry Potter sub-Wiki and I stand to be corrected. If any of my readers know better, please inform me in a comment and I shall amend the chapter.**

**And finally, a big thanks to the lovely Pix who inserted a few commas, put full-stops after my 'Mrs' (again, sorry Pix) and was generally helpful.**


End file.
